Project Origin
by MongrelMinstrel and Schierach
Summary: The remains of Shinra, Inc.'s once lauded R&D department set out to clean up the last monstrous traces of the late Professor Hojo's work. In doing so, they discover more ugly truths about the Jenova Project, and witness the start of a new nightmare.
1. Chapter 1

Rufus Shinra could not help being restless as he allowed himself to be wheeled along the unfamiliar corridor, Reno at his back, looking about distractedly as they made their way down the sterile hallway. The office building was plain, dull; everything pristine and white and utterly without personality. It was merely a stand-in; a handful of surviving Shinra employees had made it their base of operations, namely a few city planners, architects, and a few who were formerly of the company's lauded Research and Development department. It was these few that Rufus had been summoned by today, and it had been requested that he bring others with him. Reno and Rude were able-bodied enough, and he had to admit, though grudgingly, that they were not quite the imbeciles he often wished them to be.

It was conditioning, perhaps. Too many years surrounded by idiots kow-towing to his father. It felt very strange, he thought, to find himself in the midst of competence.

Rude, for his own part, followed quietly a pace behind and to the left, as he always had. Eyes on their surroundings with the faintest edge of suspicion. He had no reason to trust the build of the facility, or, in all honestly, the intent of those who'd summoned them. The world was a dangerous place, these days, for the officials of Shinra, in a way it had never been before.

He checked his watch at a glance, wondering if it were still light outside. There were no windows in this place to judge by.

Reno let out a sigh that was perhaps a bit heftier than it had any right to be as they approached a door at the end of the hallway. He paused, slowing the president's wheelchair to a stop as he leaned forward to squint at the name that was written, neatly, on a card that served as a temporary plate. Another moment passed and he shifted his sunglasses so that they were perched atop his head, keeping the fact that he had just been thinking it was awfully dark for two in the afternoon all to himself. "Professor Charles Ingram. He'd be the one, yes?"

Rufus gave only the slightest nod in response. "Yes. Formerly of our science division. I would say a former employee, but I believe he is still on our payroll."

"...Yes." Rude supplied evenly, hoping it would be considered helpful rather than annoying. Tseng had briefed them earlier, before vanishing somewhere with Elena on what he had oh so tactfully, and emotionlessly referred to as a recon mission.

And frankly, Rude was happy to leave it at that.

"Reno," Rufus issued his name as a command, quiet and collected as he had strived so hard to remain since he had first been injured. Despite all the frustration and irritation that had come with working on rebuilding his company from the ground up, he refused to let it get to him. Once you lost control, people stopped respecting you. Stopped fearing you. He might have been in a chair, but he was still an excellent shot. It was more than enough, for many people. Obedience was still something he was quite accustomed to.

Reno stepped around the chair to open the door that blocked their path, nodding for Rude to hold it just long enough for him to wheel the president through. The office the door revealed was small, pristine and newly-painted as the rest of the building had been; not quite lived-in but perhaps with some potential, if whoever used it didn't care that it would undoubtedly be crowded. A pair of doors, both glass and metal, were at the back wall, and the front office itself held two desks and a number of gray and black filing cabinets. At the nearest and largest desk sat a man who looked to be a few years older than the three of them, though perhaps not by much. He looked up from his desk as they entered, peering out at them from behind a crooked pair of wire-rimmed glasses, his hair an unkempt dirty blond.

He smiled, congenial, rising from his seat and crossing the small office in a few strides, offering the president his hand fearlessly. "President Shinra, how nice to see you again. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Rufus eyed the hand, briefly, as though it might be fatal before taking hold of it, giving it a professional, business-like shake before releasing, his smile thin and polite. "Professor Ingram. It's been some time."

Rude watched with the air of man ready to shoot at any moment, but from the corner of his eye, he caught the red of Reno's hair. Exchanged a brief look.

Was this guy serious?

Reno caught Rude's glance in his peripheral vision and gave him a similar look in return. Pleasantries were dull and unnecessary, the president was a businessman who did not like his time to be taken up with false cheer. That, and this was really cutting into what was supposed to be Reno's afternoon off. He hoped that somewhere, deep down, the professor realized he was keeping one very dedicated lush from his beer.

"I won't waste your time, Mr. President," the professor said a moment later, and Reno felt the tiniest surge of relief. "I called you here to discuss a project that would be beneficial to your plans to rebuild the company. My assistant and I have been working to salvage what information I could from the department's database. There are a lot of loose ends that have been left... untied, to put it lightly."

The door closed behind them as Reno shifted the president's chair so that he was facing the desk, causing Professor Ingram to take a few steps back so that he could face the three of them at once. "I had suspected as much," Rufus said evenly, inclining his head just slightly, interested.

"If we had information on what Professor Hojo had left unfinished, we would be able to locate the remains of his work and destroy them. It would be an aid to the general populace, but also good for PR," Ingram reasoned. "Show the world the new face of Shinra. Clean up the reputation a bit."

Rude felt what might have been a full bodied wince in another man. As it was, he stood stonefaced, watching the professor behind mirrored glasses. The shift in his shoulders was amusement. He could almost hear Reno's "Hallelujah."

"I see," Rufus began, steepling his long fingers in thought, glancing down at them as he mulled over the professor's words. "And what part do you wish me to play in this? I assume you want funding, and for it to be sanctioned by the company. Those I can give you. You are still considered an employee of Shinra, Inc. Your paperwork is in order, I kept you in the files and set you up here with the intention to keep you on. You have done much for the company in past years. Research is not my forte, Professor, and so I am curious, then, as to exactly what you require?"

"Funding is not necessary," Ingram explained quickly, shaking his head and causing his glasses to slide down the bridge of his nose. "Research is my field, yes, but there is more than just files in these labs. At least in the nearest one. I went in to retrieve what I could on my own this past week, but the place is filled with sentries. Automated security set up by Professor Hojo to attack anyone who disturbs the place, regardless of their ties to the company. They're not much, but my combative skills are... lacking, to say the least." He paused, then nodded towards the men who stood behind the president's chair.

"I was hoping your men here would be willing to accompany my assistant to the nearest lab. It's here in Edge, won't take much of your time, but the files there would be an excellent start and would give us a leg up."

Rude made the effort to glance at Reno with the turn of his head this time.

Well. Couldn't be any worse than fighting the spikey headed bastard and his entourage, right?

Reno met Rude's gaze and grimaced. "Beer," he mouthed silently, and pouted distinctly afterwards.

"Whether or not they mind is beside the point," Rufus said congenially, and offered a smile that was far friendlier and more dazzling than most. An assurance that he could be bothered to spare his business associates. Reno flinched, knowing it was just the Prez rubbing salt into the wound. As he so often did. "They're at your disposal, Professor." His smile hitched a bit to one side, turning into a very distinct smirk. "Is immediately soon enough?"

Professor Ingram began to chuckle, a sound that was cut short by the furthest door opening. A brunette woman in a labcoat appeared, letting it shut behind her without aid, a dossier tucked neatly under one arm as she used her free hand to tuck a pen over her left ear. She paused at the middle of the office, giving a polite smile as she greeted Rufus with a short, clipped, "Good afternoon, Mr. President." She managed to stave off the wince that came with spotting Reno for at least two seconds before she had to give.

"Miss Caraway will be accompanying you, gentlemen," Ingram supplied. Reno only smirked in response to the woman's actions.

Rude rolled his eyes behind the glasses. Well, at least now Reno had something to amuse himself. That meant his friend wouldn't be sulking the entire trip.

Rufus was suddenly the perfect picture of beatific peace, gesturing widely towards the door. "I'll keep the good doctor company while you all take care of this little outing. We have business to discuss, but there's no reason you can't get a head start on the project, now, is there?" His smile remained, calm and pleasant, and Reno supressed the urge to shudder as he stepped towards the door.

"Of course. Right. Efficiency," he agreed, not nearly so half-hearted as he would have sounded just moments before. He held the door open and gestured, eyes on the woman in the white coat as he continued to smirk. "Ladies first, Lyla."

Lyla grimaced, though only for a moment, exhaling and forcing a smile to her lips as she crossed the threshold into the hallway, heels clicking against the sterile white tile. "This won't take long," she informed them in an no-nonsense sort of voice. "The old lab is near here, and I have clearance to use the doors and computers. It's just the security we can't override."

Rude followed the pair of them, catching the door without a flinch as Reno dropped it. Pausing a half beat before continuing behind. It was just as well, he decided, if he let them have at least four feet to stay out of casual friendly-fire range.


	2. Chapter 2

Lyla wished she could say that the walk to the lab had been uneventful. Unfortunately, Reno had found it absolutely necessary to hover over her as they went, leaning in far too close to inspect her handiwork as she input the codes to unlock the doors to the facility, following closely behind as she lead them towards the corridor that would take them to the second floor. The sentries had been disposed of easily, all automated, nothing sentient, nothing that bled, just quick, clean disposals of the machinery. Lyla had taken the opportunity to stand back and allow Reno and Rude to do most of the sentry-cleanup, but now she was beginning to wish she had let them know she was armed.

"Whatcha doing?" Reno asked for the fiftieth time, peering intently over her shoulder as she paused in the middle of putting in yet another access code, closing her eyes and letting out a long, slow exhale of breath, squaring her shoulders.

"Reno. Take a step back or suffer an atomic wedgie."

Reno leaned back - not quite as obedient as Lyla might have liked, but a start - and smiled. "A technical term?" he suggested.

"A prelude to what will follow."

Rude resisted the urge to sigh. Not that he wasn't entertained, himself. But it would ruin his day if the redhead got himself killed. He turned his gaze elsewhere, searching the immediate area for anything that might be on par with the coming storm- or at least in the general vicinity.

Otherwise the assistant's building rage might have it covered.

That was when the movement caught his eye.

Rude held up one hand.

Reno caught sight of Rude's hand out of the corner of his eye - it was enough to make him take a step back from breathing down Lyla's neck so that he could look over and raise his right arm to point at his partner. "Question, Rude?"

Without a word, the large man used the other hand to gesture down the corridor. "...Movement."

Lyla looked up from the control panel she had posted herself at. "We'll investigate and dispatch if necessary," she said evenly. "Did you get enough a glimpse to guess what it might be?"

"..." Rude glanced at his partner, flat line of his lips turning down into a frown.

The smirk left Reno's face then, the demeanor of a bothersome child fading as he fluidly slid his nightstick from its place at his belt. "Human," he confirmed, and something else tugged at his lips then - not quite a smirk, not quite a smile, but something far more predatory than pleased. "Let's see who else is snooping around, shall we?"

Lyla stepped forward, briefly laying a hand on Reno's forearm and removing it as she passed to join Rude. "Questions, then shoot," she said quietly. "Not the other way around."

Rude nodded, slouching a bit as he whipped the corner, drawing his body in for a possible strike.

The movement- all flashes of black and white from behind, froze very still as the duo followed behind.

"Identify yourself," Lyla instructed the body down the hall, frowning slightly as she reached for something inside her coat.

The man, because when it turned, it was a man. Or man shaped, if nothing else. Was tall and lean, his frame wirey lank and broad shouldered. He tilted his head down to look them over, eyes hidden by the unfortunate shift of the dark.

He was almost a painting in monochrome, difficult to distinguish from the wall behind him and the reaching shadows. His hair was dark, damp. But tied back in a high tail that dragged it from his deathly pale shoulders. He spread his hands, wide mouth pulling apart in a toothy grin.

Lyla stood still, studying him from a distance as she surfaced with a small device that switched on with a faint beep. She glanced upward at Rude, doing so at the expense of her neck as he towered over her even when they weren't standing mere inches apart. "Identify yourself," she repeated evenly. "Present your ID card."

Reno had joined them by now, leaning so that his head poked between the two of them. "Maybe he's deaf," he reasoned sagely.

"Lady." The man across the hall said, hands still raised. "I don't even have a shirt on. Where do you think I'm going to -put- an ID card? In these pants?" His grin hitched higher. "Nuh uh."

"You would sew it into your skin if you had to," Lyla replied calmly. "Hard to get by without one." She paused, a beat of silence as she looked him over once more. "... are you one of the Professor's samples?"

He arched a brow, the comment about locating it in his handy, genetically engineered kangaroo-pouch lost with the second question.

"Is... yes, the right answer?"

Rude frowned at Reno.

Lyla sighed, looking to both men before gesturing down the corridor. "Feel free to apprehend him. I'll download the last of the files, we can take him back to the Professor and sort things out there. And-" she went on, pointing sharply at Reno. Her finger normally would have landed about chest-high, though now it was just shy of his nose, thanks to his being bent over. "Be gentle, if you can."

"Yes ma'am, we all know how you love the little animals," Reno replied dryly, drawing up to his full height and giving his nightstick a twirl. "Sir. Accompany us, if you would. Our benevolent lab aid will make sure no harm comes to you." He smirked.

"Not a lab aid," Lyla grumbled as she turned her back to him, her attention on the console she had abandoned previously.

The pale man looked the pair of them over, then the ceiling, before fixing Reno with what was probably a squint-eyed look. "Somehow." He huffed. "I don't think I'm inclined to trust you, very much."

Rude smirked, setting his weight for the imminent fight.

"Hey. I hate to interrupt the three musketeers. But where exactly are we? Would you mind being specific?"

Reno smiled, pointing at the man to direct his attention to himself. "You're here. Don't you know?" he asked, the last of his words lilting upwards.

"Much of the equipment here is malfunctioning. I thought we had already extracted all of the live samples, but it's possible we missed him. If his pod has broken and he's walking freely, it's likely he's disoriented. Explain to him," Lyla suggested, eyes narrowed as she used her index finger to navigate the menu that had spread across the console's screen. A few more minutes and they would have gleaned everything useful from this place.

Reno slid one eye closed. "Could have told him yourself, after all that. This is a research facility belonging to Shinra, Inc. Currently abandoned. We're cleaning house," he supplied, smiling again.

At the end of the hall, the man turned away from them again, muttering quietly to himself. "Shinra." he said thoughtfully, eyeing the state of the paneling above them. "Shinra. Hm." He paused then, leaning back in a bend that shouldn't have been physically possible without a great deal of training, blinking at them upside down. "So that would make you lot, Shinra, Inc. employees, hmm?" He considered this, straightening up again. "Big company." He said absently.

"We run the world," Reno offered casually, taking two steps forward. "Or most of what's in it, at least. And our resident nerd here seems to think we created you," he went on, using his nightstick to point at the man in question. "Must have been in that tube a long time for Shinra to be hazy, my friend."

Reno's statement was rewarded with a lazy two-fingered salute. "Or forever? You lot do from the ground up, doncha?" The lilt of the question was strange, almost as if the answer didn't matter. Carefully, experimentally, he lay open palms on the wall in front of him.

Choices, choices. Run away like a sissy girl? Stay and fight? Go?

Should he... go with?

"Indeed." Reno beat the nightstick just once against the palm of his opposite hand before spreading it wide as though to show he meant no harm, sliding his weapon back into place at his belt. "No one will harm you. This just isn't somewhere you want to be, buddy. I'm sure all bossy britches wants to do is give you a little medical attention and ask some questions before sending you on your way." Behind him, Lyla snorted.

Hm. On the other hand, medical attention could suck.

"I don't think I'm anywhere she wants to be, either." The lank man grinned over his shoulder. "Between the two of us. Maybe you could just point me towards the door?"

Hey. It was worth a shot, right?

"See, the trouble with that is if you try to run off on your own, my friend here comes out to play," Reno explained as though illustrating the consequences of delinquent behavior to a child. "And that would really just be unfortunate."

He sighed as though the world were a very difficult place, stepping away from the wall in a half circle that brought him closer to the wall. "So, that's a no on the door pointing." The alleged experiment noted, focusing his gaze on Rude as he neared him.

The large man looked back, squinting as the odd color caught his attention. "...No mako."

"Weird. Especially for one of Hojo's," Reno mused aloud, as he did far more often than was prudent. He smiled again as he advanced, falling into step with Rude. Behind him, Lyla had finished her business with the console and had turned her attention back to the situation in the hallway, moving so that she was close behind the pair of Turks as they got closer to the unidentified man.

"So, what do you do?" Reno asked conversationally. "Walk through walls? Fly? Have a freakishly photographic memory?"

There was a beat that passed between them, flavored in the complete silence of dumb shock. Then the dark man grinned, wide enough to flash flat, white teeth. "Yeah." He said. "Let's go with that."

Rude jerked forward as the black ate it's way up the line of his pale abdomen, seeping through every inch of white skin until he was soaked through. And then he was gone, disintegrated into the clinging darkness of the poorly lit corridor.

By the time Reno reached out to strike, there was nothing left to make contact with; he stumbled slightly as his nightstick cut through thin air, the momentum throwing him. "Fuck," he snarled, "Or he teleports."

"Thank you for tipping him off to his powers," Lyla said irately, squeezing between Reno and the wall in order to get past, stepping into the shadows without hesitation to squint and search for any sign of the man that had stood before them just moments earlier. "He might still be here if you hadn't. Do you realize how dangerous it is, letting one of Hojo's experiments run loose? Most of them were just grotesque at best, but by and large they were designed to be biological weapons."

Reno paused in buffing his nails against his lapel. "Were you lecturing me? I'm sorry, honey, I didn't care."

Rude frowned, lowering his fisticuffs. The thing could be anywhere, now. But it hadn't seemed interested in fighting.

No reason to let your guard down. But no reason to grow paranoid, either.

He checked his watch.

Lyla looked between the two of them, back and forth a number of times before heaving a sigh. "... we're finished here. Thank you for the help. Let's get back."

Behind them something flickered.

Well. It wasn't exactly convenient. But at least it was a quick way to find the exit.


	3. Chapter 3

Lyla had grown somewhat less irate by the time they had reached the office. Reno had eased up on his hovering, only offering a jibe now and then instead of the constant crowding he had forced her to suffer much of the afternoon. She was the first through the door when they returned, and paused to hold it open just long enough for Rude to pass through, releasing the handle when Reno approached and smiling just the tiniest bit when she heard a resounding "OW" immediately afterwards.

Professor Ingram looked up from his desk, where it appeared he had been involved in conversation, a pen in his right hand as it hovered over the notes he had been taking. President Shinra, Lyla noted, was nowhere to be seen.

"Well. How did it go?" Ingram asked pleasantly.

"Well, for the most part. All of the information you requested has been retrieved from the computer. ... there may have been a live sample that got away from us," she added.

"I thought we cleaned those out last week."

"So did I. This one disappeared once Reno gave him the bright idea to."

The conversation floated somewhere just outside of Rude's field of interest. It was, however unfortunately, otherwise occupied with the man in red sitting across the desk from the professor. He blinked slowly, though behind the glasses it was near impossible to tell.

Vincent Valentine blinked back, his icily collected manner without the decency to twitch in the face of the larger man.

"Live sample." He repeated with the faintest note of curiosity.

"That is to say, a person," Lyla went on to explain conversationally, crossing the room to hand Ingram a flash drive and an unlabelled folder, the contents of which looked to be sparse. "As far as I could tell. Quite literally, he disappeared into thin air. Whether he teleported or shape-shifted, I'm not sure. There was no sign of him afterwards." Her back was to the door when it opened again, Reno rubbing the bridge of his nose and wincing as he entered, limping towards Rude in what he hoped was not too pitiful a manner.

"Mr. Valentine, this is my assistant, Miss Caraway," Ingram said absently as he began to leaf through the contents of the folder. "Thank you, Lyla. Judging by what we found there last week, this new data should be very helpful."

Reno stopped short when he heard the name, looking up and suddenly appearing to be in fine shape. "Hey. What's the spook doing here?"

Vincent, for his own part, offered the arriving redhead a long, cool look. "Your job, perhaps." He said evenly, sparing Lyla a turn of his head. If he was frowning behind the mouth-piece, it was difficult to tell. His calm stare took her apart clinically before returning to Ingram. "If I understand the offer correctly."

Ingram nodded in confirmation, gesturing to the room at large as he spoke. "There may come a time in the near future when it will take more than just two or three of you to handle what you come across. I think your personal interest in the matter, Mr. Valentine, means that you are already aware of the monstrosities Professor Hojo may have locked away." Lyla offered the man in red a polite smile by way of a greeting as the professor spoke, though as he appeared to study her, she could not help growing uncomfortable. She turned her attention to her organizer instead, lightly tapping at the screen with her index finger.

"That new data may have locations of other facilities Hojo used," she suggested.

Rude watched the former AVALANCHE member as he rose to his feet, still as a statue though any other man might have shifted. Either away or closer, ready to fight. The ex-terrorist, however, paid him no mind.

"When do we begin." He said more than asked, and something in his tone suggested that he felt 'we' was entirely unnecessary.

"We'll need some time to review this new information first. Tonight should be enough. I can have the location of the next target for you by morning, I'm sure," Ingram mused aloud. "As I offered earlier, I will pay for your room and board during this project. All a part of the contract. Perhaps if you have any more questions about our work, Miss Caraway can assist you."

"Don't you need me to-" Lyla began, before Ingram held a hand up to silence her.

"You have done more than enough for today, take the evening off. I can review the data myself. Trust me; I will call you if I need your assistance."

Reno let out a low whistle from across the room.

"And your escapee." The question came at the heel of the whistle, though Vincent spared no one another glance, eyes fixed on the professor without a note of curiosity.

Rude coughed into his sleeve. Though it sounded suspiciously like a single bark of laughter.

"The files here should have record of every live sample in that facility. I already have a list of those we neutralized, the list of those that were not present is much shorter. I hate to think that one escaped our notice, but it seems this is a matter that requires some attention. I will work with what I have," Ingram said reasonably.

"He may still be there," Lyla pointed out. "I'm not sure whether he actually teleported elsewhere or not. There should be photos of a number of the subjects in that file, Professor. Tall, very pale. Black hair. No identification and seemingly no knowledge of Shinra; he may be a long-term project."

Reno feigned a yawn. "Can I go? Because I'm pretty sure I'm done. And the prez gets cranky if he's out too late."

Rude grunted in what was likely agreement, though his suspicious glare was still leveled on Mr. Valentine.

The Galian beast frowned at them- presumably- but nodded, turning on his heel. "In the morning, then." He said, flipping the cape out of his way with the wide gesture of one hand. "Early."

Lyla glanced up from the device in her hands, watching the man curiously as he stood and turned to leave. Reno snorted lightly, unimpressed. "Still at the Count Dracula act, I see," he remarked.

Rude smirked, glancing down at his watch.

How early was early, in vampire time?

Reno grinned at his partner, their wordless exchange crystalline clear. "I'm thinking nine pm or so?"

"...Enough time for a drink." The large man said, dropping his arm. He glanced over his shoulder, searching the room for their missing president. So long as he hadn't seen fit to invent any pressing matters for them to attend, maybe Reno's afternoon off was close at hand. He, himself, was off in another hour. Or thereabouts.

Reno strode across the office to pull one of the glass doors open, sticking his upper half through it to search the room on the other side. "Prez, you in here? ... that is an angry look, sir."

Lyla glanced at the professor as she slipped her coat off, carefully hanging it on a rack in the corner by his desk. "You said Mr. Valentine is personally involved. How?"

"A victim of Professor Hojo's," Ingram explained without looking up. "Beneficial to our cause, but likely dangerous. Do contact me if anything gets out of hand?" He paused, glancing towards the suited men on the other side of the room. "With any of them, Miss Caraway."

Rude took another look at the dirty blond before closing the distance between himself and his friend. Odds were fairly in Rufus Shinra's favor that Reno might momentarily require backup.

Outside, Vincent gave the pristine, almost soulless building a parting glance. This was the start of another round of nonsense. He could feel it in his bones.

Well. What of them remained.


	4. Chapter 4

9pm, as it turned out, was not the way vampires defined 'early.' At least not vampires that had previously been in the employ of AVALANCHE. 9am, however, was not so far off the mark.

Vincent was waiting outside the door of the facility as the members of staff trickled in.

Lyla was, perhaps not surprisingly, the next to arrive, early as she so often strived to be, dressed rather more casually than she had been the previous day. Skirts and heels were just fine for the office, but inconvenient for field work. She would have decided against them the day before if she had known she would be accompanying Reno and Rude on such short notice; as it was, she had simply made an effort to avoid having to dispatch any of the sentries herself.

She smiled politely as she shifted the weight of a large messenger bag from one shoulder to the other. "Good morning. Why am I not surprised that Reno and Rude aren't here yet?"

The dark man turned his gaze her way for the first time when he was addressed, lofting his brows. "You've worked with them before?" He suggested dryly.

"Briefly," Lyla explained, taking a moment to tug at the cuffs of her jacket so that they were straight, though truth be told, they hadn't been terribly out of place to begin with. "Reno, mostly, and a bit with Tseng. Most of the field work I've done has been solo, though. Sometimes Professor Ingram comes along, but he mostly watches," she admitted.

Vincent watched her for a moment as if trying to decide if the joke had been too subtle, or if she was just particularly literal-minded. Then he looked away again, searching the long, flat horizon for the rest of their awkward party.

"And what is his hope we will accomplish in a large number?"

She looked back at him, puzzled and briefly wondering if she had said something to offend. She did that a lot, really. Quite by accident, of course, but it came from spending the bulk of the past few years working and studying rather than being social. "I think it's because of the nature of Professor Hojo's work. Professor Ingram doesn't want anyone doing data retrieval to get hurt. But without knowing for sure what's in there, we can't even estimate how many people it might take to neutralize some of the more violent samples. At least, that's what he insists." She frowned, only slightly, and it flickered away as quickly as it had appeared. "I told him I could manage it on my own, but he assured me I would need help. ... not that I'm not grateful. Thank you for agreeing to do the job, Mr. Valentine."

"I have my own interest." He replied, his tone as even as always. "You have Ingram's maps?"

She nodded. "Floor plans, coordinates, the works. The next target isn't too far from here, though it won't be a quick in and out like yesterday. It's near Fort Condor, and there's another close to Junon that will need to be visited as well."

So much for a short trip. Not that he had really been expecting one.

Vincent nodded, lifting his head to see the car as it crested the line of the horizon. "You'll be navigating then."

Lyla nodded a second time, lightly patting the bag at her side. "Mhm. All the information is in here," she assured him, following his gaze as best she could to spot the approaching car. "About time."

Rude parked the car at their feet. If he had any intention of explaining his driving, its need was nullified by a single look at Reno.

Vincent felt his blood pressure ripple in promise. Oh, yes. It would be rising soon, just you wait.

Aloud he only said, "On foot, or do we have transport?"

Reno was slow to pull himself out of the car, shades pulled down over his eyes for once instead of perched atop his head. He grimaced instead of smiled, giving a half-hearted wave before using the hand to shade his eyes further. "Yo," he said simply.

Lyla raised a single brow. "Transport," she told Vincent, fishing for something in her bag and surfacing a moment later with a small electronic device. Two button presses later and one of the walls behind them began to slide upwards, revealing itself to be a well-camoflauged door. Without further encouragement, a car rather larger than the one Reno and Rude had rolled up in slowly pulled out of the building, coming to a full stop beside the group.

"Should fit all of us and anything we need to bring back."

Vincent stared for a moment at the car. And then at her. He blinked once, but said nothing, only slipped silently into the passenger seat.

Rude snorted, climbing into the back.

Lyla blinked several times in rapid succession, once again uncomfortable with the staring. "What?" she asked even as she circled around to the driver's side. Reno helped himself to a seat in the back beside Rude.

"Sweet ride," he commented, his speech not quite as slurred as his demeanor might suggest.

The red-clad man opted to ignore the question. Or, was very possibly hard of hearing.

Rude opened his mouth, perhaps to agree, but was cut off by the loud 'popping' sound as a small body shot up in front of him.

"Ello, an good day t'ye!" It chirruped.

Vincent twitched.

Lyla froze with her hands on either side of the wheel. "Reeve?"

Reno stared at the cat from behind his shades, putting great effort into contemplating it's very existence. "The cat is here," he said finally.

"No." Vincent said flatly. "That is Cait Sith."

"Everyone's favorite fortune teller!" The cat agreed, swinging his small body up onto Rude's knee before climbing into the front. "How 'bout a prediction to start ye journey?"

Lyla turned her head towards the passenger's seat, giving Vincent a long, even look. "Yes, Cait Sith, who is controlled by Reeve, last I knew," she informed him.

Reno's demeanor brightened, only slightly. "Hey, read mine."

The ex-Turk only shook his head.

Between them, the small creature turned around in a flourish. "Al-right!" He cheered, pointing dramatically at the car ceiling with white-gloved paws. "'Ere we go!"

"No?" Lyla asked dubiously, dropping the volume of her voice and wincing only a tiny bit as the cat made a show of producing Reno's fortune. Reno himself looked on with interest, smirking and carefully lifting his glasses up just enough so that he could peer out from under them.

"No." Vincent repeated, emulating her drop in tone. "That," he made a small gesture. "Is Cait Sith."

The cat in question whipped a slip a paper from thin air, presenting it to the redhead with a wide, befanged smile. "Hoo, been a long time since 'ey 'ad th' chance tae do that! Nae much fortune tellin' in merc-work!"

The brunette raised a brow. "He's fully automated now?" she questioned, casting the cat a sidelong glance. Great. Because that was something she was so looking forward to.

Reno gingerly accepted the slip of paper and held it up to the dim light coming in through the tinted windows, squinting to make out the words written on it. "'Make two grins grow where there was only a grouch before.' Hey, I think this one is meant for you, PETA."

"Hmm," Cait Sith twirled again to eye the pair in the front seat- or, whatever it was he did, what with them being closed and all. "Or either of ye." He noted, flopping down on his behind. "How 'bout it, Vin? Can 'ey gitcha a fortune?"

"No." Vincent told him evenly.

Lyla stared hard at the cat. "Reeve. I cannot believe this is what you do with your free time."

The crowned feline cocked his head at her. "Ye wan' me teh tell Reeve ye said so?" he asked, the picture of innocence.

"Why are you here." Vincent prompted, rather than wait for Lyla's response.

"OH! Yeah! Reeve 'ad a message fer ye!"

"Wonderful."

"If you could get to delivering it, then. We have a lot to do," Lyla said plainly, turning the key in the ignition as she did so. Reno let out a brief snort of laughter, leaning back in his seat and tossing the slip of paper bearing his fortune aside.

"Hey Rude. What color car should we count on the way?" he asked casually.

Rude considered this for a brief moment, watching the cat scrabble through imaginary pockets. "Oh, yes!" He said. "Course, course. Ye need any help, do ye? I can be useful fer slippin' intae tight places! Where did I put that...?"

"...Blue."

"I wonder if we actually have an option," Lyla mused aloud, glancing back at Cait Sith. If these were fully automated now, it was likely that Reeve had a whole battalion of them ready to go at any moment. She privately wondered how long they could avoid a second if she tossed this one out of the car as they drove away.

"Blue it is," Reno agreed cheerfully, spreading his arms out across the top of the back seat. "Let Reeve's cat come, he's entertaining. And more fun than you guys."

"There, ye see? I'll be helpful!" Cait Sith chirped, still perched squarely between Lyla and the Galian beast.

Vincent sighed. "And the message?"

"Oh, that." He smiled. "I'll remember eventually. Los' the paper."

Lyla gave the cat a suspicious look, her foot hovering over the gas pedal. "Seems a little convenient. We don't have time to idle here all day, though. Assuming you'll be better-behaved than Reno, I suppose you can tag along for now. Might even lend a hand by keeping an eye on the two in the back."

"Ha ha," Reno snorted.

"Aye aye." He smiled, flipping around in his seat to face the pair in the seat behind himself. "Was something 'bout a job, Vin. Cannae remember what. Reeve said 'e needed yer expertise, though. Which I guess means th'whole bit where yer tough tae kill, an'work fer cheap."

Reno leaned down so that he was eye-level with the miniature robot. "Must be easier now that the stupid accent is programmed in, eh."

"Aye." He agreed.

Lyla slowly closed one eye as she began to pull away from the offices, squaring her shoulders as the vehicle quickly moved up from a full stop. She really, really wished Reeve had chosen another accent to program these things with.

The drive was eventless, save the occasional announcement of a blue car, and the idle chatter of the small robot as it attempted to recall the message it had been programmed to deliver.

Vincent watched the road quietly, whatever was on in his head a mystery. 


	5. Chapter 5

The drive was quiet, uneventful. Reno seemed to be getting bored with the blue car count by the end, though he had employed Cait Sith to read his fortune a number of times along the way, sharing his results aloud each time and often dedicating them to the other passengers. Lyla was mostly quiet as she drove, listening to the chatter in the backseat and occasionally glancing curiously towards her silent passenger. Something had been bothering her since earlier that morning; his name was oddly familiar, though she could not seem to place it. Reeve had mentioned it in passing, she knew, but there was something else, something pressing.

They reached the lab without incident, and most of them were quick to exit the vehicle, whether to stretch their legs or get on with business or escape Cait Sith's conversation was anyone's guess. The previous facility they had visited had at least looked functional. This one appeared burned out from the exterior, windows dark and the console at the front door slow to start up. "Bad sign," Lyla muttered as she attempted to coax it into working properly. It took some doing, but finally it was running well enough to accept her entry code, causing the front door to unlock with a faint hiss and slide open.

"Your intel." Vincent said, stepping up beside her. "What is it, for this place?"

Cait Sith sprung from the ground to the man's shoulder in two swift movements, clinging to the red cape as he turned to eye the small creature. Who offered him a wide smile back.

Rude cracked his shoulder, flexing his fingers to a small chorus of criks. This place, at least, seemed as though it would be a workout.

"Last record of authorized entry is dated two years ago," Lyla responded, checking her organizer to confirm the date. "Which marks this place as being abandoned since the Meteor Crisis. Level of security is unknown, though the computers already appear to be in serious need of maintainance." She stepped through the door after giving the console at the front a hard thunk from the side, causing the lights in the first corridor to flicker on, humming softly.

"Even if the sentries aren't operational, there could be abandoned projects wandering about, though they are likely weak and malnourished due to two years of neglect."

Reno stepped up behind them, peering in. "So I might get to hit something," he said bluntly.

"Yes."

"Provided they don't teleport away from me this time."

"Have you ever considered not giving your victims a warning ahead of time? There is something to be said for subtlety."

Vincent glanced at them, cocking his gun as he walked into the building.

Cait Sith rummaged on his person again, coming up with a wide-brimmed microphone that he held in his lap tranquilly.

"Don't use that by my ear." the man in red muttered.

"Aye aye, Captain!" The cat saluted.

"Let's see," Lyla mused aloud, moving forward to take point even as she looked over the floorplan for the place on her PDA. "The main research center is two floors down. There's an elevator down this hallway, if we want to risk it. The stairs are a bit further but there's no chance to be stuck," she explained as they walked. The hallway beyond was dimmer, the lights there flickering as they threatened to go out completely.

"Stairs." Vincent said, leaving no room for argument, glancing back at Lyla for a beat. "You fight." it was almost impossible to tell if it was a statement or a question, but he had paused, eyes on her.

Cait Sith cocked his head, waiting for her answer, as well.

She continued to walk without missing a beat, with what seemed to be very little concern for what might await them in the darkness. "Yes," she said simply. "Quite well, in fact."

"Hits hard," Reno grumbled from somewhere behind them.

Vincent fell back into step without questioning this, though from a certain angle the cat thought he might see the edge of a smirk.

"Watch where you're going then." the ex-Turk advised, pausing to check a corner before proceeding in the direction of the stairs.

"Of course," Lyla assured him without looking back. The light was growing dimmer, but there was still enough to get by with as they neared what looked like the door to the stairwell. "Seems as though all is quiet up here. Shall we see what lurks below?" Her tone was utterly mirthless as she pushed the door open, waiting until the next person had caught hold of it before letting go and beginning the descent.

"Creepy," Reno observed as they began their trek down the stairs. As though on cue, a loud thump sounded from somewhere beneath them, something that sounded nothing like the expected metallic clang of a light fixture or the crash of a fallen door. A grin spread across his features then, eager, pleased. "That's more like it."

Rude stepped into the hall behind Reno, leaving the AVALANCHE members to take up the rear. Vincent looked at Cait Sith coolly before following behind.

"Cannae someone see in the dark?" The cat asked, leaning over the top of Vincent's head. "Cannae tell paw from wall in 'ere!"

There was a faint rustling as Lyla produced something from her bag, then a soft click, causing a wide beam of light to spill before them. She paused long enough to offer it to the cat, keeping it pointed ahead. "Cait, hold this, if you will. I'll need both hands, likely."

"Sure thing," he agreed, taking the light.

Vincent, however, slipped one hand under the cat and set him atop Reno's head, dodging three steps into the darkness before he dissapeared entirely.

"Vin?" Cait Sith called after him. "Heey!"

Reno shot a hand up to steady the cat as he began to take the stairs down two at a time, slipping his nightstick from its place at his belt as his descent fell into a steady, quick rhythm. "Hold on, Cait," he advised. Ahead of him, Lyla picked up pace and disappeared into the darkness behind Vincent, lost to the light that Cait Sith kept pointed forward.

Another thud sounded, followed by a softer, wetter noise. Something slick. Slime? It seemed to be growing nearer, somewhere beyond the next landing. Lyla paused behind Vincent, reaching to draw something out from beneath her shirt at the small of her back. "Trying to beat me to it?" she asked calmly.

"Trying not to be blinded." He replied evenly, taking aim.

Rude frowned at Reno when he came abreast of him, sunglasses still fixed in place despite the almost pitch black of the room at their depth. In the flashlight his face was a mass of angular shadows and flashes of white.

How in hell could they see at all?

"Fair enough," she replied, thrusting her right arm out suddenly; the motion was followed by the metallic sound of something being unsheathed, an item the size of a standard flashlight having expanded into a full-length staff, the faint light from the flight of stairs above and around the bend briefly glinting off the blade at one end. She moved forward without another word, striking out at the thing in the darkness without missing a step, even as the light from above became brighter as Reno, Rude and Cait rounded the corner.

"Alright, what's with you two running off all- fuck, what is that?" Reno asked of noone in particular, sneering as the light fell across the creature that had clearly dragged itself along the length of its corridor to reach them, the dark, sticky-looking trail on the floor behind it standing as proof. It was almost serpent-like in shape, though a pair of arms protruded from its midsection in a way that arms most certainly should not, bent at odd angles, dragging the rest of the body along as they pushed against the floor to press forward. It's head had been human once, perhaps. The shape of a human skull could be seen at the top, though the jaw had elongated itself. As soon as Reno opened his mouth to comment, the thing unhinged it's jaw, baring fangs the length and width of good carving knives.

"Why could Hojo never make any pretty monsters, huh?"

"He did!" Cait Sith supplied, the light shifting as he readied his megaphone. "Ready, Vin?"

Vincent darted to one side, shooting a line of bullets aimed at the glint of those teeth. His quiet grunt of response was lost in the echo of gunshots.

Rude glanced at Reno before he dropped into position.

Lyla moved quickly, darting to the side of the beast in order to take a wide swing at it's middle, blade slicing into the serpentine body and drawing both a howl and a thick purple substance from the thing. It screamed and hissed as Vincent's bullets connected with its left fang, shooting the lower half of it clean off. It thrashed, swinging its heavy tail towards Lyla, easily wider than she herself was, but she cleared it almost effortlessly before moving to the other side and slicing again.

Reno was deliberate in his movements as he closed in on the beast. It snapped at him, cobra-like, somehow eerier for the lack of a snake's hood, attempting to scrape at and pierce him with the fang that was still in one piece, near enough to a sword protruding from its head. He parried with his nightstick, striking hard before wedging it into the creature's mouth and spreading the fingers of his left hand wide, sending a sharp electric current through his weapon and, consequently, their assailant.

Rude dashed after his partner, landing a solid punch to the side of the thing's head as it went momentarily still from the shock, following up with another before he danced back, unwilling to linger too close to the fangs.

Cait Sith reached onto his furry person for something, startled upright when the thing howled again. He yelped, holding up the microphone and blaring a loud keen into the mouthpiece.

Across the room Vincent shuddered at the pitch, tracing a finger over the materia in his bracer before firing another shot.

It twisted back and forth as it found itself attacked from all sides, shrieking again in reply to Cait Sith's own keening, a high-pitched wail of a sound now, followed by a pained hiss. Reno struck it's dislodged jaw from beneath, sending another wave of electricity through the creature while Lyla descended on it from behind, driving one end of her bladed staff into the cylinder of its body, aiming for where she thought the spine should be. More of the thick fluid began to ooze out, staining her weapon and boots as it continued its trek to the floor.

Vincent frowned, fingers brushing over what he had been seeking.

Ice.

He murmured an invoke under his breath, sending a wave of shards from his flung hand, freezing a trail of its goo solid.

The monster's pained wails were more pitiful than frightening, and the dark man was gripped by what felt almost like misplaced pity. He scowled, stepping back to steady himself.

Its body began to seize as the ice crumbled around it, movement beginning to slow just moments afterward, slower and slower until it became perfectly still, frozen in mid-air until it began to lean, slowly at first, then hitting the floor so hard that the impact caused a wave to run down the length of its body and tail. Lyla moved to stand with one foot on either side of the serpent and brought her blade down swiftly, cutting through the spine and severing its head from the rest of its body.

"Shit," Reno breathed, though his expression was pleasant, appreciative somehow. "It's been awhile since I've seen his work up close."

"Two years." Cait Sith said uncomfortably, peering over Reno's head as the megaphone vanished somewhere. God knew where. "How did i' survive that long?"

Vincent brushed a shard of frost from his cloak. "You'd be surprised." He said simply.

At least it was out of its misery now.

"Some of the equipment may still be functional, it may be a recent breakout," Lyla reasoned, carefully stepping over the remains. "But maybe not. There are records of experiments that went a lot longer than two years without food, water, or anything else reasonably considered necessary to support life." She paused, glancing down at the severed corpse. "... it's terrible. We rehabilitate the ones we can, but some are too far gone. Putting them down seems a greater kindness."

Reno side-stepped the bloodied serpent, careful to avoid stepping in the goo-trail it had left behind. "The moral quandary of the exterminator," he remarked.

Vincent turned from the wreck of a thing without another word, returning his gun to its holster with a soft click.

Rude followed a few steps before he stopped, glancing back into the pitch dark of the hallway.

She was unable to completely ignore Reno's comment, shooting him a sharp glare in reply, but remaining wordless as she continued forward. There was work to be done, and she was growing tired of bickering and having arguments that noone would win.

Rude, however, did not move.

At the mouth of the room, Vincent paused, looking back.

"What's goin' on, Rude?" Reno turned to look back as well when he heard Rude's footsteps pause, careful to mind the extra weight atop his head.

"Hmm?" Lyla echoed, glancing back in turn.

Silhouetted by the light in Cait Sith's hands, Rude held up his hand, five fingers spread in a motion to stop. Or in the number of footsteps he heard.

Vincent frowned, looking past him into the shadows.

Lyla squinted as she peered at the far end of the hallway, leaning to her left in order to see around Rude. "Movement."

Rude shifted his weight, flexing the leather of his gloves again.

In the pitch black, the figure bent over the monster's remains scuffed the ground as it stood. A fluid, easy rise that ended with a very obvious flip of the bird.

Vincent smirked behind his cowl.

"What? What is it?" Reno asked irately, looking in that same direction and seeing nothing but pitch-black, even with Cait Sith holding the light forward.

"A person, I think," Lyla said softly. "Not a monster."

Rude frowned, lifting his glasses enough to squint into the darkness. He didn't see a damn thing, but he had to agree that it had sounded more like it was their shape than the last thing's.

"Ey! C'm outta there, laddie!" Cait Sith called, angling the light to better search for their companion.

There was a hesitation in the creature. A moment of still in the hallway as the faint red light flickered in the black, illuminating the long figure like a ghost story, glinting off the sleek, frozen scales of the monstrosity.

The man smiled as his face faded with the light, a wide, pale mouth and blunt, white teeth.

Lyla narrowed her eyes as the shape made itself more apparent, though the dim red glow surrounding the figure was new, unfamiliar. "You," she said flatly. "Hello again."

"Couldn't stay away, eh buddy?" Reno asked with a smirk, ghosting his hand over the grip of his weapon before letting it fall to his side.

"Your escapee." Vincent surmised, lifting his gun serenely.

"Escapee from where?" Cait Sith asked, peeking over Reno's head for a better look.

Lyla gave a minute nod in reply, taking a few careful steps forward so that, heaven forbid, Reno was not the first of their group that this person reached. She glanced upward as she broke even with him. "Want to ask if he has super strength this time, Reno? Or maybe swords that come out of his arms. I don't know, any way you're itching to see the group suffer?"

Reno frowned. "Asking if he could walk through walls was a legitimate question. ... as are those."

"Don't rightly know." The figure said from the pitch black, shifting his weight as she moved. More into a position for retreat than attack. "Never thought to give it a shot."

Lyla pursed her lips slightly, silently wondering what she could possibly do or say to prevent the subject from running. He had no identification, but he had to exist somewhere. He must have been normal at some point - he spoke and moved like a person accustomed to the outside world, yet seemed surprised by the fact that he now had the ability to do - well, to be honest, she still wasn't exactly sure what he had done. She finally settled for, "Who are you? ... how can we help you?"

It was better than letting Reno menace him.

He paused, looking at her over the top of his black-lensed glasses. They were wrap-around, the large kind it should have been impossible to miss the first time they crossed paths. On the other hand, here he was in a completely different facility, so one might suppose he'd had the time to buy them.

If not the know-how.

"Me?" He said, lifting his hand to shake the last of the red glow from his fingers. "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on."

Vincent paused in step with the rest of the party, his presence creating a single line of bodies between the subject and the open hallway. He frowned, looking the remains of the creature over. It was already beginning to decompensate.

"I believe you were in the custody of Professor Hojo for some time," Lyla explained carefully, her tone patient, even. Reno let out a sigh. He wanted to hit this guy. He was pretty sure it would be fun, actually, but if he sent the man running a second time, he was fairly certain he might acquire some lasting bruises.

"However, that begs the question of exactly what it is you're doing here," she went on.

"Oh that?" He blinked at her. "I followed you."

Lyla raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"That sounds a little. You know. Nefarious," Reno interjected in a leading sort of way. "Maybe like a 'bad guy,' Ly?"

"Said I followed you." He repeated almost cheerfully, stepping over the wreck of an experiment as if it didn't squelch when he brushed it. "Looked to have a handle on what's happening around here, y'know? These Shinra people run the world, you're on their payroll. Seemed like a good place to start. Hey." He crooked a finger at Vincent. "S'not nice to point."

The dark man arched a brow, leaving his gun steadied.

Lyla edged just half a step back, reaching behind her to close her fingers around the shaft of her weapon, though she left it at her back for the time being. "Do you have a name?" she asked, calm.

"Kaiun." He tugged the glasses down to look at her again. "Gotta admit. I'm not sure why you people seem to think I'm dangerous."

"Habit." Rude supplied.

Reno nodded, a slight tilt of the head in Rude's direction. "You understand. That's the world we live in."

"Actually." He smiled, looking them over. "That seems to be most of the problem I'm having."

"He's disoriented," Lyla shot at Reno, bracing her free hand against her hip.

"He is dangerous." Vincent added, the barrel of Cerberus never wavering from its set on the man's chest.

At their feet the monster finally succumbed to whatever entropy had been eating it away, vanishing in the last faint shimmers of red.

Lyla's gaze had moved from the stranger to the remains of the serpent on the floor, watching as it appeared to disintegrate, crumbling until there was nothing left. She looked back to the dark-haired man and studied him a moment, a frown pulling at her lips. "And not human. Oh. You are... something not okay."

"Well, neither are you." He said, tone feigning some hurt.

Her frown deepened. "Pardon?"

His frown pulled apart into an instant grin, following the casual line of his shrug. "Are any of us okay?" He asked. "It's an existential question, really."

"That's very interesting and all, but we're trying to do a job here," Lyla informed him, exasperation thinly veiled. "Are you a part of it or not?"

"Valentine agrees he's dangerous. 'Neutralize' him," Reno suggested.

Vincent's gaze narrowed.

The gun went off with a snap that rattled the loose bolts in the overhead light. Across the hall, Kaiun dropped like a rock into water.

"THAT'S what I'm talking about," Reno declared vehemently. "Though you should have shared, Drac."

"Vin!" Cait Sith startled, turning an accusitory, feline gaze on his friend. "You shot him!"

Lyla's frown had turned puzzled, pulled thin as she looked to the caped man. "Mr. Valentine?" she questioned.

He said nothing for a moment, eyes fixed ahead as he lowered his weapon. "Look."

On the ground, the shirtless man groaned softly, sitting up. "Ow." he murmured.

Lyla went very still as she watched the man on the ground, clapping a hand over her mouth as he pushed himself up off the floor. "Oh."

"Was that necessary?" He asked, fingers clasped over the wound as it bled sluggishly.

"What are you." Vincent said simply, watching the red as it pattered to the ground, turning a slick, thick black.

"Funny you should ask." He snapped, leaning back against the wall. "I wanted to know the same thing about you."

"Great," Reno cut in, sliding one foot forward and resting his hand over his weapon, letting it linger there this time. "This is the kind of standoff that could go on for hours."

"I'm serious, here." Kaiun grunted, hauling himself upright again. "I haven't thrown a single punch. You guys are awful quick on the draw, arencha?" He hissed, coughing wetly.

"What do you want to know." Vincent's voice was slow and even, the edge of his words rasping as he raised the gun again.

"Alright. Alright! Jesus."

Lyla sent Vincent a curious glance before turning her attention back to Kaiun, watching him expectantly.

The wounded man took a steadying breath, whipping his hand to clear it of the blood. Behind the dark smears, it was already closed up, only a dent in his pale flesh, marring the strange tattoo.

"I meant it. I don't know where I am, okay? Or what the hell is going on. No reason to get so damn shooty."

"Then where is it that you're from?" Lyla asked, once again adopting a very even, controlled calmness.

Reno released his hold on his nightstick, turning to face Kaiun so that their end of the hallway was now completely blocked by the width of their own bodies. "And how'd you get into that lab in Edge?"

"Same way I got in here." He snorted, wiping the remains of his blood against the back of his pants. "Equipment's a wreck. You think it was tough to get in without the codes? S'not like anything in there could do worse than whatever the fuck -that- was just now." There he paused, muttering something else with the intonation of a curse as he rubbed the remains of his injury. "Let's say I've been living under a rock, how's that? Seems to me a longer explanation would bore everyone."

Lyla's mouth pulled thin, irate. "Whatever you're doing, you're holding us up."

He made a shooing gesture. "Don't mind me. Got no mind to interrupt you."

For a moment, Lyla looked at a loss for words. Thankfully, Reno always had plenty of those on hand. "Look," the redhead began, offering Kaiun a most condescending smile, "I'm not too comfortable giving you my back. Seems the lady here isn't, either. And I think Vincent would just love to shoot you again."

The dark man flashed him a grin that made his teeth seem sharper than they had before. "So whatcha sayin' man? You wanna fight?"

"It's usually my way. But I get the feeling that might be frowned upon today," Reno continued to explain, even as Lyla shot him a glance and grabbed his upper arm to emphasize the "Not here." she somehow avoided hissing. Reno smirked and rolled his shoulder back a few times until she released him, shaking his newly-freed arm out once.

"I don't suppose you could be convinced to come along with us, could you. You've got no reason to, except for, oh yeah, finding out where you are and what's going on around you. So come along and learn, or stay, but in either case, I think a truce is more than reasonable. Sorry we jumped the gun, buddy. It's these troublin' times."

"My heart bleeds for ya. Really does." He snorted, tossing the loose hair over his shoulder. "Sure. Why not. Might even be fun."

"Well. Cannae believe that worked." Cait Sith cocked his head.

"What can I say. Real people person." Kaiun grinned at him.

"Hm." Vincent said, slipping the gun away.

Reno smiled broadly even as Lyla gave him a critical look, eying him as though something were amiss. After a moment, she stepped away and turned her back, starting in the direction they had originally been headed in. "Let's go. I promised I would make a report to Professor Ingram before this evening."

"We'll need to stop in the holding room." Vincent murmured, falling into step beside her. "Which way do your maps say."

"I was planning to," she replied, pulling her organizer out of her pocket and giving it another glance. "It's this way, as well. Next to the data center."

"Ey!" Cait Sith called from behind, waving the flashlight for emphasis. "How ye be readin' that, lassie?"

"Good eyes," she explained without looking back. "And the screen is backlit."

"Hm." Vincent said again, pausing as they came to an intersection. "Not much here."

"Think it's safe to say your friend was alpha predator." Kaiun offered from behind.

"I had gathered as much. This place has been abandoned for two years, I imagine it ate... other projects to stay alive, when it needed to." She frowned in the dimness, checking her floorplans again before nodding to the hallway on their right. "The end of this hallway is the holding room. We'll do that first."

Vincent nodded, cocking the rifle before striding in the direction she'd indicated.

They reached the end of the hallway without incident, a few flickering lights keeping their way mostly free of mystery. The door there had been torn open and bent off it's hinges in such a way that it would no longer slide, but the hole that had been ripped through it was enough to fit even the largest of them. Lyla gave herself permission to go first, grabbing the door and it's frame with either hand and hoisting herself through. Walking to the center of the room, she surveyed their surroundings and sighed heavily. Reno stumbled slightly as he followed through, unable to keep from frowning as he followed suit, looking at what had been left.

The largest capsule was broken open and empty, its glass walls jagged and edged with the same dark purple goop that had oozed out of their friend in the corridor. The other capsules that lined the circular room were not quite so vacant. Some were broken, with only meager remains of their inhabitants inside. Others were whole, but the creatures inside were bent over, perfectly still. Some looked human. Most did not. A few were caught somewhere in-between. All were touched by the cold gray and blue of asphyxiation.

"Already dead. Every one of them," Lyla said softly.

"That's the better end for them." Vincent's voice was low as he spoke. Perfectly controlled.

Cait Sith shook his head. "Poor blighters." He sadly, reaching up to steady his crown as he glanced around.

Behind them, Kaiun broke away from the line of Rude and Reno, inspecting the closest tank's ruin with a thin-lipped frown. "S'all the same." He said, a note of surprise in his voice. "How can that be..?"

Lyla nodded just once in agreement, slowly making her way over to one of the tubes that was still in a single piece, peering in at what looked remarkably like a perfectly whole and normal human being. "Yes. And that's the end we were sent to bring them if they hadn't met it already - most of them, at least. ... just never gets easier to see. So many people suffered for his madness."

Reno covered his frown by feigning a yawn, reaching up to scratch Cait Sith behind the ears. "Yeah. Sucks to be them."

The robot actually purred, momentarily distracted from the surrounding horror.

Kaiun glanced up. "So you were making them." He said, straightening. "...but out of what."

Lyla frowned. "I do hope that's a general 'you.' We had nothing to do with this project. We're just on cleanup."

"Someone's touchy." He observed, glancing around the room again. "Interested to know how you intend to clean it up, though. Gotta admit."

"Put them out of their misery," Lyla explained, moving on to the next tube, leaning to peer at its contents. "Euthanise them. Sometimes a little more violent if they attack like the one in the hallway. Those that are still human are taken in to be rehabilitated. We take what information we can from the computers. We leave, and Professor Ingram places a call to have the place incinerated. It's the only way we've found that's final enough."

He arched a brow, pushing down the glasses again in what could only be called incredulous disbelief.

The brunette frowned. "Are you judging our procedure?"

He smirked, pushing them up again. "Sure. Let's call it that." Kaiun said, spreading out a hand to encompass the span of the room. "This one. The last one. It's everywhere. Never felt it like this before."

The lithe man closed his eyes, cocking his head like an animal listening for a telltale sound. "Breathing. Laughing. Christ, it's like an epidemic."

Reno turned a curious eye on the dark-haired man. "Not so out of your element as you thought, looks like."

"Wouldn't say that." Kaiun shook his head. "But I had a calculation error. An' it looks like I'm going to be paying for that awhile."

Vincent frowned. "You're talking about Jenova. Aren't you." He said, watching the stranger.

"Jenova?" He blinked, looking them over. "Yeah. Okay. That this?" He asked, holding up one hand, fingers wriggling as they glowed a bright red.

"Damn," Reno exhaled. "That never stops being creepy, no matter who's wearing it."

Lyla took a few steps forward, curious as she neared Kaiun. "Yes. That's a typical representation of Jenova's energy."

"Took it out of your buddy outside." He said.

Rude shook his head. The world was full of spooks and weirdos these days.

"How?" Lyla asked, brow creasing.

"...Entropy." Kaiun said after a moment, as if not entirely sure what else to say. The glow faded as he dropped his hand, rubbing it absently against his thigh, as though he'd touched something he wished he hadn't. "S'what I came here to see. And it's why I was in your little clubhouse a few knots back. Guess you could say we've met."

"Why is that not surprising?" Reno voiced, moving towards the door to put some distance between himself and the capsules, though there wasn't much refuge to be had as long as they remained in the room.

"You don't call it Jenova." Vincent noted.

"I don't call it anything." He looked at his figners for a moment. "Well. Creepy, maybe. I've seen what it can do before, but I've never seen it do this. Get into things like a sickness, yeah. But really into 'em? Like, their makeup? Did you guys do this?"

Lyla shook her head. "Cleaning up someone else's mess. The man who thought this was a good idea is dead." She shifted slightly, uncomfortable. "Killed by terrorists, I heard. ... it sounded like a fitting end for someone like him."

"It was." Vincent assured her, his manner unchanged.

Kaiun looked between the two of them for a beat, giving off a low whistle. "I've got some kinda luck."

Vincent's tone was enough to draw Lyla's attention. "You?"

The man in red didn't answer, only turned to inspect the remains of the tubes surrounding the console centered in the room.

Kaiun watched him, head tilted. "So my question is." He said, "What you're going to do when it starts pulling itself back together."

"We don't know yet," the brunette answered without pause. Reno recoiled slightly, wrinkling his nose at the thought of Jenova reassembling herself. "But if we can delay it, it allows more time to work the problem."

"Ooh. I get it. So you decided to put it in as many different places and people as possible."

"Look," Lyla snapped, "This wasn't our doing. How many times do I have to repeat myself? We're trying to undo what was done."

Reno winced. "She is going to punch you in the face."

"Sorry. I'll have to ask you to aim for the gut." He held up a hand. "The face punch has a special place in my heart, these days."

Cait Sith snapped his fingers. "Tha's it!" He said, leaping to his feet.

Vincent turned to give him a curious look.

A low growl began to rise in her throat as she clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists, fighting to keep them at her side. Reno rolled his eyes upwards to look at the dangling feet of the cat atop his head. "What's it?"

"Oi, Vin! Tha's what Reeve sen'me tae ask ye! Said there was some kinnae energy disturbance jes outsidea th'ol slums'a Midgar! 'E wanted ye tae check it out for 'im. Said there mighta been a crash."

"Probably me." Kaiun folded his arms. "For such a tiny planet you guys have a hell of a gravitational pull."

"The hell are you talkin' about?" Reno demanded, discreetly wiggling his index finger to tickle the robot's belly.

"Him, or me?" Kaiun asked with a blink.

Cait Sith purred, losing his train of thought for a moment. Vincent sighed.

Cats.

"The both of you. You friggin' crashed here?" Reno went on to ask, looking Kaiun over dubiously. Lyla sighed, raking her fingers through her hair, torn between slipping off to finish the job by downloading the in-tact files. On the one hand, Kaiun's presence was about to be explained and this, according to Reeve, was important information to have. On the other hand, she wanted to strangle him.

"Damn straight I did. Fucking flattened my baby." He sighed, shaking his head. "Be surprised if I can find enough pieces to put 'er back together after all this."

"Baby. As in a space-ship baby," Reno echoed, disbelieving. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeeeeah."

"Lemmee get this straight. You've got a world-corrupting space-whore inserted into the genetic makeup of like, a city's worth of people and places, and the idea that I busted my ship is weird to you?"

Reno paused for a moment, then shrugged, turning his free hand up. "Our space program got abandoned awhile back. Not something we see a lot of."

"You're not missing much." Kaiun grinned. "Well, in a manner of speaking."

"Kind of figured a lot of empty space and some glowing gas. Nothing flashy," Reno agreed flippantly.

Vincent sighed, tapping two clawed fingers to his forhead before reaching to shove a fallen ceiling panel from the computer. It slid free in a shower of glass and debris, clattering to the ground almost musically.

"Dr. Caraway." He said.

"Where?" Lyla asked, turning suddenly in Vincent's direction, wide-eyed. "... oh. Oh, you meant me." Reno let out a snort of laughter somewhere behind her.

He leveled his gaze on her, and for a beat, it seemed confused. Then the even calm returned. He gestured to the cleared port.

"Oh. Of course, thank you," she said absently, quickly crossing the room to the console and turning her attention to the screen. "Dr. Caraway is my father. I don't have my doctorate yet."

He stepped back to allow her access, lips turning down thoughtfully as he searched his memories for the exact identity of Dr. Caraway.

Reno had made his way over to Rude in the meantime, leaning in and dropping his voice to just above a whisper. "Did you see me shock the hell out of that thing in the hall?"

"There we go," Lyla murmured to herself as she finished setting up the data transfer, tapping a few more points on the screen to bring up a file to browse through. She would have more time to read them later, but skimming through it now meant she would be distracted from how irate she was, though her rage was slowly beginning to dissolve.

Rude nodded, smirking as he held a brief thumbs up.

Cait Sith scooted up Reno's neck to keep from toppling off as he moved, glancing curiously over his shoulder at Kaiun.

The alien apparent offered an openhanded wave.

"We're finished here," Lyla announced as the transfer ended, reclaiming the portable drive and sticking it back inside her bag. "And I need so many drinks, I'm pretty sure."

"Y'seem a little highstrung." Kaiun agreed, letting Rude and Reno pass before turning to follow them out.

Vincent glanced around the room once more before turning to follow, waiting a beat for Lyla to catch up.

"Seriously," she grumbled under her breath as Reno's backside disappeared through the hole in the door, followed by the alien's. "Like thirty."


	6. Chapter 6

It seemed all of them needed a drink, in fact. Including Cait Sith, who, as far as anyone could tell, was not physically capable of having one. Still, he sat cheerily at the center of a far table, reading the fortunes of passersby and patrons in between the rolls of dice he was no doubt responsible for providing.

Vincent sat in a far corner, drinking quietly, his eyes on Reno and Rude as they chatted.

Reno had been quick to order a pitcher of beer and had informed the bartender not to let it get empty before settling in with Rude and Cait Sith, quite happy to be drowning himself in his daily round of suds. The job wasn't too terrible so far, in his opinion - he got to stick with his partner, laugh at the cat and make his once-favorite scientist insane at regular intervals. Actually, this job was pretty awesome. He'd have to thank the president later on.

Lyla paused beside Vincent's table, hesitant, a tall glass containing something deep and amber-colored in hand. "May I? Or would you rather drink alone?"

He looked up at her, a note of surprise in his placid expression, before spreading a hand in silent invitation.

She offered him a small smile in return, setting her glass down before pulling a chair out for herself and settling into it. "I finally realized why your name sounds so familiar," she said plainly.

"AVALANCHE." He suggested, looking across the table evenly.

"No," she admitted, "Though I remember Reeve mentioning you being a member in passing at some point. Pages 172 through 190 of my doctoral dissertation are about you."

He blinked, brows arching as he took a mental tally. That was better than 20 pages.

"You're not mentioned by name," she added quickly, averting her gaze for a moment and allowing herself a sip of her drink. "It's on the history of the Jenova Project and the questions it raises concerning morality. ... an attempt at proof that scientific advancement and decent morals don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"I see." He said over the rim of his glass. "Popular topic these days, I bet."

"It will probably be dismissed," she told him, allowing just the slightest hint of disappointment to show through. "But I've detailed most of the project, what isn't classified, so whether or not they agree with me or my defense, it should earn the degree regardless. I originally planned to omit your story as it wasn't a part of the main project so much as a result of it, but it was too interesting." She paused and winced slightly as a faint blush began to creep into her ears.

"... I'm certain I meant to say horrible. It's - awful, of course. ... I'm not insensitive, I'm just socially very, very awkward."

Vincent stared at her for a beat before lowering his head to conceal the slight smile. "I wouldn't know." he rasped. "Being the life of so many parties."

She gave him a sidelong glance, paused with her glass halfway to her lips. "Do you get tired of putting on the scary voice, ever?"

"Needs a drink, after awhile." He said without skipping a beat, illustrating with a tip of his beer.

She smirked. "I thought you just smoked a lot until you slipped on it back at the lab. Just for a second."

"You noticed." He quipped, watching her evenly.

The truth was that the fact might have embarrassed the hell out of him, but he didn't fancy admitting to it. Even Cid'd yet to call him out on catching it.

"I notice a lot of things," she said awkwardly, looking away again and closing one eye to inwardly curse at herself. "I won't spread the word, though."

"Much obliged." Vincent said, almost wryly, setting his mug back against the table.

She looked back and smiled, almost nervously, turning her attention to her drink very decidedly. "Having met you, it feels disrespectful to leave you in my dissertation. I can remove that section, if you like."

The man in red watched her for a moment, set off balance by the offer. At length, he shook his head. "That wont change the past. Who knows. Someone may even learn from it."

"I should hope," she began quietly, "that someone reads it and learns that there are boundaries that should never be crossed."

"Knowing isn't the problem." Vincent said evenly, taking another drink.

"It's true. Plenty of people know but don't care." She frowned, pausing to take a drink as well. "Dr. Ingram, though. He's a good man. He wants to make sure Hojo's 'legacy' is erased and to see that his victims don't continue to suffer."

"Mm."

She looked up at him. "You disagree," she informed him, rather than asked.

"I've known too many people of science," he paused a beat, taking a breath. "Not to reserve judgment."

She paused again, recoiling slightly, her smile flickering away. "Do you think we're all like Hojo?" she asked clinically, without a hint of hurt or defensiveness. "It would make sense."

"No." Vincent looked up. "I don't."

"No?"

"No." Red eyes swept over the bar, finding the trio as they caroused. Watching Cait Sith count down Reno and Rude's shots. "But there are so many ways to be wrong." His voice was lower, almost sad. "Better to be cautious and surprised than open and unsuspecting."

"Depressing," was her only response at first, though hardly accusatory. She followed his gaze towards the table in the opposite corner, watching passively as Reno laughed loudly at something Rude, or maybe Cait, had said. She frowned and looked back. "But I can't deny that you're right. If I were you, I would never trust another living soul," she went on, echoing his tone.

She looked up again, eyes wide. "Not that I pity you. I mean, what happened was awful, of course I think that- but not that I feel sorry for you, I'm sure you don't want- you know what?" She laughed mirthlessly as she focused on her drink again. "Starting to remember why I should learn not to talk so much."

"There is good in this world. Or people willing to fight for it. That has been proven over and over again the last few years. Maybe that makes hope... worth trying." The sound beneath his cowl was almost like a smirk. "But, maybe I do ... feel just a little sorry for myself. Here and there."

Lyla allowed herself to look back despite the embarassed flush that had attacked her cheeks. "You've got every right to," she said plainly, taking another drink.

"All of us have suffered crimes. Committed sins." Vincent murmured, shifting back in his chair. "That's the world we live in, now."

"Unfortunately," Lyla agreed, though grudgingly, settling back in her chair as well.

Vincent watched her for a beat, then gestured with his beer-laden hand. "Like you."

"Committed sins, like me?" she echoed, confused. She raised a brow. "Harsh, Valentine."

He leaned back again, any mirth concealed by the high collar of his cloak. "I'm sure you had your reasons. But don't expect me to turn a blind eye to what you've done." The words accompanied a flick of his metallic fingers, indicating the table across the way.

"Excuse me?" she asked, looking honestly affronted for the first time that evening. The flick of his claw redirected her attention; all color drained from her face as she watched Reno knock back two shots, one after the other, then slam his fist down on the table before laughing and saying something to Rude that was indiscernible from where they sat. She was startled when Reno looked back and noticed her watching, waving and sticking his tongue out at her before turning back to the others at his table.

Lyla turned around, mortified. "Oh my God."

Vincent watched her with a certain, infuriating serenity.

She narrowed her eyes at him, brow furrowed. "You are making fun of me." She paused. "You are a son of a bitch."

"On my good days." He agreed, taking a long drink. "Although, there's no doubt it's given him an excuse to be insufferable."

"I feel I'm being unfairly blamed," she told him, sharply pointing in the general vicinity of his chest. "I'm not the one doing all of the provoking. Although I did close the door on his face yesterday."

"I noticed." Vincent agreed with the barest hint of emotion in his tone.

Her color had begun to return, but she did take an extra moment to swallow the last of her drink in one go, scowling afterward. "Everyone experiments in college. Some people do drugs. Some people question their sexuality. I went retarded."

There was a small, undignified noise as Vincent Valentine nearly choked on his beer.

"I can confess to my sins," she said reasonably, matter-of-fact. Another rousing shout came from Reno and Rude's table, and she winced. "... when they are dragged out into the open."

He nodded, expression unseen as he shifted to peer around her. "They've gathered a crowd."

"They do that," Lyla informed him without looking back. "People are impressed by how much their livers can withstand. For some god-forsaken reason. ... or maybe it's the cat."

"You'd think there weren't stranger things, in Junon."

"I know. People drink like it's their job here. Drink and fish. Or work for the military. The only three options, really."

Vincent thought that over, watching the ruckus. "Or fly." He said absently, remembering the airport.

"Mhm. Or get tattooed in Liberty Square and do things they regret. College town," she explained.

Vincent gave the far table another pointed look.

She gave him a sharp look in reply. "Look. Sometimes people just make mistakes. That last two years. And involve very brief and miserable cohabitation."

Vincent lowered his head again, remarkably slowly for a man attempting to hide his mirth.

"I see that smirk," she grumbled. "I realize you think you are hilarious, Mr. Valentine."

"Yo," Reno interjected, causing Lyla to let out a curtailed shriek as she jumped in her seat and narrowly missed knocking her empty glass over. She sunk downwards even as he crouched between their chairs, putting his arms across the rungs. "Chatting up Drac about putting in your application for AVALANCHE's Research and Development department? Oh wait, they don't have one because they're terrorists. Awwww," he jeered, sticking his lower lip out as far as it would go, trailing his index finger down his left cheek.

Cait Sith, in Reno's absence, had clamored atop Rude, and holding his megaphone to his ear, was using it to better hear what was happening across the inn floor.

Lyla glared at him, shifting to turn her back even as she responded with a curt, "Grow up and fuck off, Reno."

The redhead's hand flew to rest over his heart as he batted his eyes. "To the quick. It's really killing you to be working for big bad Shinra again, isn't it, dollface?"

She snorted. "No. It's killing me that you never seem to shut up."

Rude and the cat exchanged a vertical glance. Cait leaned out, the better to hear, tail anchoring him on the large Turk.

Vincent watched quietly.

Reno gestured broadly, smirking. "Maybe you should have told your boyfriend not to assign me and Rude to your little expedition."

Lyla twitched noticeably. "Reno," she said icily.

"Lighten up. Learn to take a joke and have some fun," the redhead offered casually, though the grin on his face was no less shit-eating than it had been moments before. "Just because you're trying to become Hojo Jr. doesn't mean you have to be so pissy all the time."

There were no words then, just the clatter of her chair hitting the ground as she stood suddenly, grabbing Reno by the throat and shoving him backwards. His eyes went wide as she took him by surprise, slamming him into the wall beside Vincent's chair and standing on her toes to hiss an inch away from his face. "Leave. Me. Alone," she warned him darkly. "Or you'll have to extract your balls from somewhere inside your liver. We're here to do a job. Grow up. Cut it out. Do the job. You're capable of it. So fucking do it." She released her hold on him just as he had began to make faint gagging sounds, having already attempted to wrest her hand from his throat with both of his. She turned her back and left without another word, and Reno sneered as she left, waiting until she was out the door to glance back and see that a slight imprint the shape of his shoulders had been made in the brick wall, dust and small bits of brick spattering his jacket.

"Shit," he said plainly.

"Lassie's strong." Cait Sith observed with mild surprise, even as Rude reached to haul his partner from the floor.

"Always has been." The Turk said, looking the wall over.

Vincent said nothing, but a frown had begun to pull at the edges of his lips.

"Fuckin' might accidentally have fun if she fought back, heaven forbid," Reno griped, brushing the dust off his jacket, frowning. "Supposed to be funny. Damn, that HURT."

Rude slapped the dust from his back with one, well placed pat, frowning after her.

"S'pose ye brought that on yeself." Cait Sith said doubtfully, looking after the doorway she had dissapeared through.

"Yeah," Reno confessed, sighing. "I was kind of hoping she would just throw beer in my face or something. That would be funny and delicious. And not bruise."

"Need another drink?" Rude suggested, eyeing the imprint in the wall.

"Dude." Reno raised an eyebrow at his partner. "Always, compadre."

Outside, the night was cool and clear. Stars shivered in a long, speckled blanket across the night. Glimmering determinedly against the bright city lights.

"That was pretty impressive, really." the voice was low and clear over the traffic, addressing Lyla as she left the bar.

Lyla spared a brief glance over her shoulder even as she continued to walk, looking both surprised and irate when she spotted Kaiun. "Which bit."

He shrugged. "The redhead-shaped pattern on the wall bit."

She paused, wincing. "... is there one? Really?"

He held his fingers marginally apart. "Ah mikaka."

She narrowed one eye. "Is that like, a tiny schmoo?"

He flashed her a crooked grin. "Yeah. Somethin' like that. So what's got you all riled up, Miss Scientist."

Lyla opened her mouth as if to respond, then closed it abruptly, shaking her head. "Nothing you need be concerned about."

"I don't really need to be concerned about anything." His grin faded into a sort of smirk that had proven to be semi-permanent. Kaiun's eyes turned upward again, returning to the bright gleam of stars. "And t'be honest, I don't make a habit out of it, either."

"I had already guessed as much, really."

"Oozes off in sheaves, right?" He chuckled. "Well lookit it this way. Got no one to tell."

She folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head once more. "I'm not really the open-up-and-share-with-strangers type."

"Thank god."

She raised a brow. "Sorry to interrupt you by walking down the street you happened to be standing in?" she suggested.

Kaiun shook his head. "Didn't mean it like that. You might nota picked this up yet, due to my stunning countenance and way with words, but I mighta lied about that people person thing back at your lab."

"I had also guessed that. You seem to be Reno's sort of people."

"Trouble with that sorta people's that that sorta people rarely mixes." He tipped his head back enough to see her again. "That, and I'm not as much fun as I used to be."

"Maybe you should go and attempt to mix. I have a house to storm off to," she sighed.

"Not for me. But don't let me interrupt ya. Sleep good, Science Girl."

She looked at him, oddly startled, then gave a half-hearted sort of wave before turning and continuing away from the bar.

* * *

Lyla was glad they had chosen to stay the night in Junon. The plan was to drive back to Edge in the morning and make a report; they would likely reach Dr. Ingram's office by early afternoon, and she guessed that it would take him the rest of the day to sort through these new files and decide on their next objective. As eager as she was to get the data-collecting part of this project finished, the lab they had visited earlier that day had unsettled her. Sleep never came easily to her, but tonight she didn't even want to try. She couldn't block out the image of all those projects, those people, bent over in their glass pods, faces blue from suffocation – those who had managed not to be eaten.

She had gone back to her father's house after the incident in the bar, leaving the rest to stay at the inn for the night. She had already gone ahead and charged the rooms to Dr. Ingram's account per his request, which eased her guilt for having stormed out, if only slightly. She wanted to say that her behavior the past couple of days was just a result of Reno's constant prodding, but if she were to be completely honest with herself, she had been wound tighter than usual for awhile now. Work was stressful. Struggling to impress the president enough to get their funding back for the department was taking a lot more than she had originally expected. At least it seemed that Ingram's current project had caught the president's attention. She was worried about her father now that she had moved away, leaving him to take care of himself. She couldn't remember the last time she had managed a full night's sleep, even with the aid of the pills she took despite their lack of results. When she did sleep, nightmares ensured that it was restless. Yes. Those had been getting much worse lately.

She sighed, glancing towards the stairs that led to the second floor. Her father had gone to bed an hour before, and she had taken to channel-surfing in the dark. Nothing caught her interest. She frowned to herself, reaching for her phone and studying it as though it were some foreign creature before opening it and scrolling through her address book. She couldn't fix everything that was bothering her, but there was at least one issue she could handle.

"Yo, princess?" the voice on the other line answered, sounding just slightly confused.

Lyla paused for a moment, half-ready to hang up the phone and pretend she had dialed Reno by accident. "Hi," she said finally, somewhat doubtful. "I'm at my father's. Can you come over for a little while? We need to talk."

Now it was Reno's turn to be silent. "... sure," he said cautiously. "Does he have some walls he'd like to decorate with an imprint of my body?"

"Sorry about that."

"Nah. I was askin' for it, I know you're smacky," Reno supplied.

"So you're coming?" she asked. "You remember the way, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Be there in five, sit tight." Without saying goodbye, he hung up, and Lyla got to her feet in order to turn a few lights on before he arrived.

Five minutes turned out to be an accurate estimate, though Lyla wasn't terribly surprised. The bar was only a few blocks from her father's house, something Reno used to think was incredibly convenient. He still looked perplexed when she opened the door, not to mention cautious, eying her up and down as though he were searching her for a weapon.

"What's up?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"Come in, sit down," she sighed, stepping away from the door to gesture toward the sofa. He looked at her blankly for a moment, then carefully stepped through, looking over each shoulder before wandering into the main room and gingerly taking a seat as instructed.

"Okay. Sitting," he informed her. Lyla shut the door behind her, crossing the room to sit down on the opposite end of the sofa, turning slightly towards him.

"We have to work something out if we're going to be working on this project together," she said bluntly, and even as she spoke, she suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that this was the first time they had spoken alone since the breakup two years ago.

Reno frowned, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Y'know I'm just messing with ya."

"You're provoking me," Lyla corrected.

"Okay, yeah, I might be doing that. But not because I want to make you mad. You should lighten up, learn to take a joke."

She frowned in reply. "And just take it? So you and Rude can laugh about how clever and hilarious you think you are behind my back?"

"That's not what we're doin'." He leaned back against the sofa, folding his arms over his chest, drawing attention to his open suit jacket and untucked shirt. "And Rude's not a part of this, so I'll just say, that's not what I'm doin'. If I really wanted to be mean, you know I'd be nastier. You know me. Maybe you've just never seen me try to deal with someone I still like before. I don't hate you or anything."

"Yeah," she agreed softly. "I don't hate you, either."

"I'm ribbin' on you because..." He paused, letting out a sigh and directing his gaze upwards, fixing it on the ceiling. He winced slightly, as though the next part pained him greatly. "Because we're buddies, aren't we?"

"... I didn't think that had ever been established," she admitted, looking mildly surprised. "I figured you'd never want to see me again. Especially after I punched you and, ah... accidentally knocked you out on my way out the door."

"That hurt, by the way," Reno conceded, "But nah. You're cool. It just went bad, that's okay. I was pissed for awhile, but sometimes that's how things work out. Here's where it gets fuzzy for me. I make fun of you, and okay, I get that you weren't getting it was just for fun, but the girl I knew wasn't so tense all the time. She woulda grinned and fought back, and had fun with it." He lowered his head and turned it to look at her. "When did you stop havin' fun, Ly?"

"I was wondering that, too," she told him, frowning again.

"I can't help you answer that," he told her, with some real note of regret, "but I will say this. If everything is gonna hit you so personally, I can lay off. Act like nothin' ever happened, and keep it all business-like, and I won't tease you anymore. But to be honest, that's no fun, and then people are gonna see that something's up, and Rude and Valentine will probably think we're kissin' on each other again and that I've got your cooties. And you know, I've got a reputation to uphold."

She chuckled, not quite a real laugh, but close enough. "And we wouldn't want to tarnish that."

"No way," he confirmed. "But hey, or we can do this. Instead of getting upset when I poke at you, which you now know is supposed to be friendly, you can poke back. And the threats, they're fine and all, so long as you don't put me through another wall. But come on. Have fun. Couple years ago, you would have thought this was fun."

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "I would have."

"So are we goin' with Plan B? Who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself, and maybe some brave knight will see me pickin' on you and come to your rescue. You never know."

"Alright. We can give that a shot."

"Good. I'm gonna get back to the bar," he told her, getting to his feet.

"Okay. I'm glad we cleared things up a bit." She followed suit, standing to show him out.

Reno started for the door, then paused. "Did you want to come?" he asked. She shook her head in reply, making a shooing motion towards the front door.

"No, you go. I'll try to get some sleep."

"Alright. Don't take too many of those pills, never did you much good anyway," he warned, only the faintest flicker of a frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Mm," was the only reply she gave him, opening the door and stepping aside. "Have fun."

"Will do," Reno replied after a brief pause, watching her a moment before stepping out into the street. He waved over his shoulder without looking back, sinking his other hand into his right pocket. "Sleep good." When he was a few yards away, Lyla shut and locked the door behind him, and sighed.


	7. Chapter 7

The drive was oddly quiet, outside of whatever secret language it was that Rude and Reno used to communicate. Cait Sith still perched between Vincent and driver, and in the morning, the alien apparent had been nowhere to be found. And no one talked much, though in two cases of five, at least it wasn't to be unexpected.

Lyla had been notably quiet most of the way there, as they all had. Even Reno seemed uninterested in doing much other than talking to Rude, and this he did at an unusually low volume. Things continued on this way until they pulled into the garage at the complex in Edge, where Lyla wordlessly put the vehicle in park and turned off the ignition. "You're all free to do what you like with your time while I speak to Professor Ingram, though I believe the president is waiting for you in the professor's office if you would be so kind as to come and retrieve him."

"Oh, aye. Cannae let wild riflemen roam the grounds," Cait Sith chirruped, hopping down from his perch into Reno's lap.

Vincent watched the small cat for a beat as if trying to interpret the significance of his apparent snub, then slipped out of the car without a word.

The brunette retrieved her bag and a dossier from beneath the front seat before sliding out of it, heading for the door to the main building at a moderate pace without looking back to see who followed. Reno seemed content to lift Cait Sith up enough that he was able to get out of the car without incident, then perched the cat on his shoulder, giving him a pat on the head. "Come on, let's go pick up the prez."

Rude nodded, straightening his gloves as they fell into step together.

Just ahead of Lyla, Vincent paused at the door, holding it open.

She offered him a polite smile as she passed, hand resting over the flap of her bag. "Thank you," she said, pausing inside long enough to wait for him before continuing down the hallway.

Reno yawned as he approached the door alongside Rude, yanking it open with one hand while using the other to steady Cait Sith as he discreetly bounced the robot on his shoulder. "Wonder how long this gig is going to run, anyway."

The cat peered over Reno's shoulder, holding out his hand. "I could try a fortune?" He suggested.

Rude glanced at the ceiling. "How many facilities did Hojo touch?" He frowned, unsure of the answer.

"Lay it on me, cat," Reno encouraged him, glancing to Rude afterward. "More than I could think of off the top of my head, I'm sure. Not all of 'em are on the map, either. He was with the company a long time. That's a lot of shit to stir."

Rude considered that, watching as Cait Sith finished his predicting with a twirl.

"Miles are covered one step at a time." The robot said brightly, brandishing the paper.

"...A long time."

Reno narrowed an eye at the robot suspiciously. "That one's gay. Do me another."

With a nod the cat did another small twirl, coming up with a new piece of paper.

Rude squinted at it. "...Believe your task may be complete someday."

"Today's fortunes keep saying I'm fucked," Reno observed. "I don't think I approve."

In an attempt to be helpful, Cait Sith made a third attempt, handing the redhead another small slip of paper.

"Success is a long journey, not a destination." it read.

Reno frowned in reply. "You can stop this shit now."

"I dinnae pick 'em." He sighed, tucking the paper away somewhere.

"They pop out of your stomach thing. You are somewhat responsible," the redhead reasoned.

"True." He conceaded, "But I cannae change fate, ye know, laddie. Jes warn ye!"

Reno raised a dubious brow. "You know these things aren't for real, right?"

"Oh, aye. Ye can say that. But I never been wrong!"

"Not ever?"

"Not thae I know of." The cat blinked at him. Which was strange when you considered it in two points. The first of which being that he was a robot, and the second that he had to open his eyes in order to blink them at all.

"Yo. Cat." Reno held him out at arm's length. "Did you just open your eyes to blink at me?"

Cait Sith pointed at his face with one gloved paw. "They're in there, ye know."

"As eyes are, traditionally."

"Well. I dinnae blink me tail."

"But they're always closed," Reno pointed out. "You had to open them. Actively open then. To blink at me."

Cait Sith thought about that for a moment before nodding. "Aye."

"That's retarded."

"Well, how else would I do i'?"

"How about not at all, since you are a friggin' robot," Reno suggested.

"I'm programmed tae do human things though!"

"That's friggin' weird."

"But th'crown's nae?"

"The crown is stupid too. But I didn't wanna say anything," Reno explained.

"I'm a king among fortune machines."

"So that's why you wear the crown. Because you're retard royalty?"

"Aye." He agreed cheerfully, tipping the small headpiece back. "Got tae mark i' so everyone knows a moron when they seem em! Like yer tattoos!"

Reno raised an eyebrow, giving the cat a less-than-friendly look. "That is so not what they're for."

Cait Sith gave him a wide, feline smile.

The redhead frowned. "Reeve. You are a sick bastard if this shit is what you do for fun. Seriously."

"I ge'that alot."

"I think you should talk to someone about your issues."

"I have a lot o'those." He agreed.

"I think you might be a furry, Reeve."

"Ye know 'm not actually Reeve, aye?"

"I know that he can hear me. Because he is a voyeur and is so watching us."

Cait Sith thought about that one for a beat.

"Well. Nae -all- the time."

"Enough to be a freak, Cait. Enough to be a freak."

* * *

Lyla dropped the dossier and flash drive onto Ingram's desk without preface, forcing a smile in reply to the one she had been greeted with. "Everything from the most recent target," she informed him wearily. "I can help you go through it today if you like. Should get us pointed towards the next facility more quickly."

"Ah, thank you," Ingram said brightly, leafing through the physical portion briefly before seizing the drive and immediately plugging it into the computer that took up a good-sized portion of his cluttered desk. "That won't be necessary. You're no good to me if you're exhausted. Rest today, I can handle this alone. I am curious, though - were there any live samples at the newest target?"

Lyla frowned slightly. "Just one that could actually be referred to as living. It's been neutralized. The rest were already deceased when we arrived. Most half-eaten. The rest just died from lack of life support. Most of the equipment was broken down."

Just behind her, Vincent stood in the doorway, surveying the room from its entrance without any indication that he wished to come in. Not that that would stop a crack from Reno, later, about vampires and invitations.

He stepped to the side as the Turks caught up, Cait Sith perched again on the redhead's shoulder.

Reno lifted Cait Sith from his shoulders and held him out to the red-clad man in the doorway, smiling. "Here's the toll. I need to go talk to the prez."

Vincent offered him a look, but the small robot scrambled lightly onto the ex-Turk's arm with no real trouble. "We should talk tae Reeve," Cait Sith said, nodding. "Before we head out again."

"Mn."

Reno waved as he turned sideways to squeeze past, motioning for Rude to follow him, turning his back and heading for the door on the far wall. It was propped open this time, giving him a clear view of Rufus pulled up to a work table and leafing through a folder that looked well-worn on top of being several inches thick.

"I see," was Ingram's only response to his assistant, immediately engrossed in the words and figures that had begun to fill up the screen. "You are dismissed, Miss Caraway."

Lyla looked mildly affronted. "... Professor, no offense, but I am not a secretary or errand girl. I had planned to be involved in the actual study."

"You will be," he assured her, looking up again to offer her a warm and almost parental sort of smile. "Of course I realize all of that. There is only a bit more to be collected, and rest assured, I will need your help to keep from being buried alive under all of this."

Cait Sith leaned over enough to peer past Vincent's long fall of hair, eyeing the scientists on the far end of the room. Lowering his head until he spoke just into the man's ear. "Diyae think 'e'd wan'tae hear 'bout this, as well?"

"Mn." Vincent assured him, lifting a hand to steady the small creature as he turned.

The cat fell quiet, watching the exchanges intently from his thin, slitted eyes.

"I see," Lyla said evenly, her back still turned to the pair at the door. "... call when you have further instructions." Ingram gave her a disappointed frown in reply, shaking his head once as he shifted his gaze up from the computer once more.

"I cannot ask anyone else to oversee this part of the job. I promise you will be involved in the study when this preliminary stage is complete. It's because I trust you, you realize."

"I know," the brunette said after a brief pause, turning from the desk and starting towards the door. "Call."

Vincent watched her pass them by without a word, turning his even, crimson gaze on the good doctor.

Cait Sith ducked behind his head, only the white end of his tail flicking back and forth in view.

Ingram caught sight of the two lingering in the doorway and smiled, even as the click of Lyla's boots grew faint, moving further down the corridor. "Gentlemen."

The more human of the two of them nodded his greetings. Then dug his fingers into Vincent's collar to keep from toppling off as the red-clad man turned to go.

The professor raised a curious brow as he watched them leave. "How very talkative he is," he mused aloud, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him.

* * *

"Mr. President," Reno said almost respectfully as he stepped into the room, letting the door shut behind him once Rude was also inside. Surely Professor Ingram wouldn't mind them borrowing his workroom for a few minutes. "We've come to retrieve you."

"I see that," was Rufus' distracted response. He thumbed through a few more pages before closing the file and wedging it between the arm of his chair and his own torso, pausing to cover it with the blanket that had been draped across the back, letting it fall across his legs instead. "I plan to accompany you to the next objective."

Rude blinked, straightening some. "Sir?" he asked uncertainly.

It wasn't that he was questioning Rufus' ability to do so, really. The man had been the official head of their unit until the incident four years ago, and even if it hadn't recently been proven that the Shinra president was more than capable of taking care of himself more than well enough, it wouldn't have been enough time to forget how.

Still. The reason the young CEO would want to come? Eluded him completely.

Rufus smiled thinly at the pair of them, a knowing, calculated smile, calm and cold as his similarly cool blue eyes. "I have sanctioned this mission to salvage old work and clean up the refuse. I would like to see firsthand where my money is going." He lightly drummed his fingers against the folder beneath the blanket. "Trust that this is not a decision I have made lightly. I feel I will be far more enlightened than I would be if I were to remain at Healin."

Reno raised a vibrant red brow, shrugging. "I'm not gonna stop you. I'm just warning you. Reeve's cat is there, sir."

His partner nodded in agreement, quietly wondering if the robot would be there when the door opened again.

"Good," Rufus remarked, his tone lilting upwards just the slightest bit. "That means everything will be recorded, then. Obnoxious as they may be, Reeve's toys are useful in certain situations."

Somewhere, outside, Vincent looked up at his joyrider when the little robot shuddered.

"Take me back to Healin," Rufus directed, and without further instruction, Reno was behind the chair, wheeling him towards the door and pausing just long enough to wait for Rude to open it. "There are a few loose ends I wish to tie up before we leave."

The large man fell into step behind them, tossing Professor Ingram a single nod as they crossed paths.


	8. Chapter 8

Lyla was, as expected, the one to receive information regarding their next stop the following morning. She called the others - at least, those she could reach, hoping that Reeve would help her when she could not and have Cait Sith inform Vincent. This lab was closer than the last, directly east of Midgar, built into the cliff-face that looked out over the ocean there. Rather than meet and go together, she simply requested that those attending meet at the lab itself. She was the first one there, also as expected, and found herself distracted by the dark, choppy water that lapped at the shoreline several yards away. It had probably been blue once, before Midgar had been built, she reasoned. Now it was much closer to black.

She glanced back at the building, its metal facing long tarnished by the salt air. Foreboding and somehow fitting, she thought.

Despite his apparent habit for extreme punctuality, it was not Vincent that arrived second. -Hopefully Cait Sith was still with him, in order to send the message through.

Instead, it was the strange, tattooed man. Who had not been anywhere in sight across the near barren expanse upon her last look, but somehow managed to step up beside her, anyway.

"What are we watching?" He asked, following her gaze through dark, reflective lenses.

Lyla jumped slightly at the sound of another person's voice, immediately wishing she had not. She wasn't usually the type who scared easily, why was she wound so damn tight all of a sudden? She wasn't sure. Neither did she know exactly when it was that she became so serious about work and decided that nothing else mattered or was worth her time and attention. Arms crossed, she gave the strange man a small smile as she looked his way. "Trying to imagine what this place looked like before all the pollution," she said plainly.

Kaiun looked up at the sun, pouring down over the cliff-face and washing onto the dock. Lost somewhere in the dirty kiss of the water.

"Clear," he said after a moment. "Probably not very blue- least not this close to shore. White sand. The pokey shells that hurt like a mother fucker if you step on 'em."

"Those I don't think I'd miss so much," she mused aloud, looking back out over the water. The sun didn't touch the pitch of the water, only caused tiny glints of white where it crested as the wind refused to let it rest. "I didn't imagine you'd be joining us today."

He spread his hands. "Tough to get rid of, sometimes."

"I'm not sure there will be much more to see here to answer your questions. More of the same," she told him. "Monsters in tubes."

He cocked his head, watching the churn of the ocean at a slant that almost suggested wariness. "Seems to be a lot of that around here," the lanky man agreed, flashing her his teeth in a wry grin. "Don't think we're looking for the same kind of answers, though. I might get lucky, yet."

"If it's Jenova you're looking for, there will be more traces of her inside," she said with a grimace. "She's everywhere."

"That's the part that kind of creeps me out." He agreed. "Yeah."

"Seems a hopeless case sometimes. I think it would be impossible to hunt down every last trace of her."

"You'd be surprised." Kaiun muttered, more in absence than to be heard.

She turned to give him a curious look, puzzling over the proper response when the steady purr of an engine began to draw near. She looked over her shoulder, spotting Reno's car approaching. "Here's three more," she murmured.

Kaiun stepped away from the dock rather than to one side, cocking his head as he watched the Turks and their President pile out of the vehicle.

"So," He said after a moment, "Where's the robot and his feline friend?"

Lyla looked back to the alien apparent after watching Reno assemble the president's chair for him, holding it steady while Rufus made a point of displaying how very capable he was of getting into it himself and with some manner of grace. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Mr. Valentine doesn't appear to have a phone number on record. I had to leave it to Reeve to deliver the message for me. ... via the cat."

"Sounds reliable." Kaiun said in a very reasonable tone.

"Perhaps I should ask the professor to issue him a company pager," Lyla responded flatly, "If he'll be working with us much longer."

The smile on Rufus' lips was calm and professional as Reno wheeled him towards the pair near the entrance, Rude flanking them. "Good morning, Ms. Caraway. I did not realize we had contracted another body for this job," he said, looking Kaiun over with interest.

"Hey," Reno interjected, "It's the spaceman."

The shirtless man flashed him a finger sign that might have been his one handed impression of what a bull looked like, using it thereafter to push his glasses up. "How's it hangin', Captain Self-preservation-sucks?"

"Little to the left," Reno replied without missing a beat. "Where's Dracula and the cat?"

"Haven't seen either, yet."

Rude glanced at Reno over their boss's chairback.

Reno shrugged his response to Rude. "But he was out in the daytime yesterday and didn't catch on fire. He can pull a repeat performance, can't he?"

Lyla frowned, averting her gaze and turning her attention to the entrance of the lab. "If they're not here in five, we'll just go in. The three of us can handle whatever might come at us." She paused, glancing to Kaiun. "Four?"

A soft click sounded as Rufus turned the safety on his shotgun off. "Five, Ms. Caraway," he corrected.

Kaiun flipped her a casual salute. "Sure, Captain. Sign me up, I guess."

"... we'll be fine without him," Lyla reasoned, her arms still folded across her chest, fingers lightly drumming against her elbow.

"I have never visited this facility personally," Rufus said a moment later, glancing up at their only female companion. "Have you?"

Lyla paused in her fidgeting and looked down to meet the president's gaze. "No," she admitted. "I didn't even know it existed. There are a lot of Shinra facilities that fall under that category, though. I'm not exactly top brass. Not always in the know."

He smiled, polite, professional, calm, as always. "There is not much top brass left, Ms. Caraway. Someone will need to replace them someday."

The doors slid open with the standard, minimal encouragement. All the rust and wear of the outside belied the working lights and cleanly floorway.

Kaiun paused behind the group of inworlders as they entered, frowning at the entrance. "So... you're... sure this place is abandoned?"

Lyla did her best to conceal her puzzlement as she stepped through the entryway, looking both ways down the corridor they found themselves presented with. "Still operational. ... clean, too. There will be automated sentries, no doubt. Many of them can also handle maintenance."

"Last place sure as hell didn't look like it."

"This one is larger." The calm voice came from behind them, following the metallic slide of the doors.

"Aye! More backups tae replace the broken down with!"

The brunette turned her head back to look at their new arrivals. "Glad you could make it."

Rufus nodded once, indicating for Reno to push him further into the hallway, rifle in hand. "Sentries will not be an issue. I would like to take a look around. Ms. Caraway, if you would be so kind?"

She directed her attention to the floor plan she had brought up. "Of course. Our primary objective appears to be on the lowest level. That's four flights down. Since the place appears to be fully operational, the elevators should be safe," she added. Stairs were not what the president needed to see at the moment. "Was there more you would like to see?"

"Everything," Rufus informed her. "I can handle myself, Reno and Rude can escort me while you extract what it is that you need. Perhaps we could meet on the lowest level when we've finished."

"If you like, of course."

Vincent moved between them quietly, not bothering to spare a glance as Cait Sith hopped from his shoulder to Reno's. "Do you have any other stops planned." He asked Lyla, brushing his cloak away as he turned to peer down the hallway.

She glanced up at the taller man, shaking her head. "I didn't, though I would like to take a look around myself when we're finished below. All of the samples were kept on the lowest level, it looks like. I'll go there first, download the files from the computer system as usual, and then... well. I wasn't expecting this place to be functioning so well. There may be something interesting and worth seeing. Or at least useful."

He nodded, pulling his gun free. "No reason for delay, then."

Kaiun checked over his shoulder, folding his arms. "Mind if I crash your date, or should I give myself a tour?"

"You're welcome to come along if you're interested," Lyla told him plainly, glancing to Rufus and the others. "Be careful, and call if you run across anything of note, please."

"You as well, Ms. Caraway," Rufus told her, then motioned for Reno to go to the right. Reno offered the rest of the group a lazy wave as they went.

"Don't get eaten!" he called back over his shoulder before they disappeared around a bend. Lyla snorted softly, more amused than not as she began in the opposite direction.

"There's an elevator at either end," she explained as they went. "We'll take it directly down, take a left and the room we want should be at the end of the hallway."

Vincent eyed the pristine hall as they walked. Not a light out of place. Not a dent in the walls. Everyplace else had gone to hell, but not this one. What was here? What had Shinra placed so much personal interest in.

He'd seen sleek walls like this before. The particular, off-blue gleam of the metal. It was more than a research and testing facility. It was a bunker in some kind of private war.

The ex-Turk frowned, quietly cocking the Death Penalty with his free hand.

He just wondered if it was meant to keep things out, or in.

Lyla continued to frown the further they went. Even the facility in Edge had sentries, but here there was nothing at all - not so far, anyway. The faint hum of fluorescent lights, the soft whir of machinery behind doors, their own footsteps echoing as they neared the elevator. That was all she heard.

"No guards," she murmured as she stepped onto the lift, waiting for Vincent and Kaiun to join her before pressing the button for the lowest level. "... maybe they're patrolling elsewhere. ... wonder if maybe a few of the people Hojo might have had on retainer still use this place. It's too well-kept."

"The codes weren't updated." Vincent pointed out with a frown. "When was the last date of entry?"

She looked to her organizer, ignoring the hum of the elevator as they descended. "... six months ago."

"For what?" He glanced her way, steadying himself in front of the doors.

"I couldn't say," she admitted, looking up as the ding sounded and the faint hiss of the doors sounded as they began to slide open. "All I have is the date for the last authorized entry."

"And the keyholder's name?" Vincent stepped into the hall deliberately, surveying the wide, well lit space.

"Let's see," she mused, stepping out after him and pausing to tap the screen of her organizer a few more times. "... oh. ... Dr. K. L. Caraway."

The tall man watched her for a beat, perhaps taking in her change of expression.

She frowned again, a small, thin twitch of the lips, very still for a moment before tucking the device back into her bag. "... that's all it says," she said before moving past him, dark eyebrows knitted together.

He followed, casting a last glance at the man still standing in the elevator on his way out.

Kaiun stepped around the doors as they started to close, wondering what kind of soap opera, exactly, he had signed up to play extra to.

Lyla was forced to stop at the end of the hallway, the door she was presently faced with far larger and heavier than those they had seen at the previous facilities. "Odd," she murmured, leaning over the control panel. As with the front door, the codes were the same as those she had been provided with, though this particular door seemed to require more than the standard one or two authentications. Her frown deepened when she finished inputting the fifth code on her list and the door let out that tell-tale, well-oiled hiss.

Vincent frowned, lifting his head to take in the array of wire and plugs that stretched from the ceiling, the room bathed in the sickly, floodlight green of the light that poured through the rows of sealed pods.

Bodies still in tact, bodies in pieces and those cobbled together. Human and mutation. All with the same basic shape- basic face.

"What... is this?" She was hesitant to enter, but found herself unable to remain in the hallway, taking two slow, meandering steps into the room. At first she could only stare, rows of pods all the same height and shape, all the same color, all with the same wires and plugs running from them like so many black veins. The two leftmost tubes in the first row were empty. No sign of forced entry or exit. Still on and functioning. Just empty. The only ones.

Her eyes moved from one creature to the next, each bearing a different mutation. None quite human, though some tried to be. Disfigured wings and oddly bent claws, tails or the occasional extra limb. No two were identical, and yet they were all the same in a way that suddenly made her feel sick.

"What is this."

Beside her, the paler of the two men wound his way around them. Carefully, suspiciously. The metal enclosing his fingers tapped near silently against the glass as he reached out, laying his hand against the farthest specimen.

At the console in the room's center, Kaiun bent over the screen. His fingers moved deftly, if in sporadic bursts. Experimental taps at the keys to see what blind intuition could pull up. "They're in stasis." He said after a minute, shattering the eerie silence. "But I guess you knew that."

"No." Vincent's voice was low, but deafening in the still. "Not all of them."

The person behind the glass twitched faintly, eyelids lifting slowly, working its lips as though it took great effort. "Kill..." The voice was hushed, muffled by the glass and the fluid inside. Lyla slowly approached Vincent from behind, driven by morbid curiosity, paler than she had been in the hallway.

"Kill." He repeated, turning his head with an almost canine sympathy, dark eyes on her mouth as it moved.

"Looks like we got here at a bad time." Kaiun offered from his place at the station. "They drugs they're pumping in with the air are just about running out."

"Kill me." The words were slow, drawn, labored.

Vincent looked over his shoulder, expression steady again as he waited for Lyla.

"... Kaiun." It took a moment for her to tear herself away from the pod, even as she moved towards the computer she looked back, expression perfectly blank except for her eyes. Wide. Scared. "... move. Let... let me see that." She turned to lean against the console, leaning down to read the words on the screen, going over them twice, three times before they began to make sense the way words ought to.

"... Pandora Project."

Displaced, the third party member stepped around the console, taking his turn to tour the array of unfortunate souls.

For his own part, the ex-Turk moved away from the glass, circling them. Unsure of what to do. Pull the plugs? Shoot them out. What would it take to kill projects of this caliber.

"July 7th, Project Pandora founded," she began to read aloud, her voice oddly distant, dispassionate. "Counterpart to Project Prometheus. Project directed by Gast, Hojo and Caraway. An attempt to recreate the Cetran race for the purpose of study." She paused. "... what?"

She shook her head briefly as though to clear it, scrolling down to the next portion. "December 16th, Pandora prototype removed from facility by persons unknown. Intern convicted and terminated. January 8th, Dr. Kenneth Caraway retires." Another paused, somehow heavier than the last.

"March 5th, prototype still not recovered and declared lost. Work on cloning process begins. April 17th... cloning process is complete."

Vincent stepped away from the ruin beside him, closing the distance to better hear as she read aloud.

Kaiun paused where he stood, eyes sliding closed. Waiting for the whispers, listening for the voice.

Lyla's eyes remained fixed on the screen as she continued to scroll through reports. Oxygen levels, tank temperature. Every last detail of the project seemed to be recorded. She paused when a highlighted date caught her eye. "This is from four years ago," she murmured. "... first clone overpowers caretakers and escapes, killing twelve in the process." She blinked slowly. "It looks like they made the others weaker after the first two. .. easier to control. Also why they are mutated, I... I assume."

"Tampering caused them to destabilize." The ex-Turk frowned, turning a critical eye back on the menagerie of horrors.

"But one of 'em busted out?" Kaiun frowned, lilting back until his eyes found the tile of the ceiling.

"... so it would appear," Lyla said after another pause that felt entirely too long, looking up at the both of them. "... Vincent."

He turned, offering her his complete attention. Face drawn and half hidden, concealing whatever emotions flickered outside of his eyes.

She forced herself to look downward, eyes closed as she braced both hands against the console, leaning. "... pull the plug. Please."

The cloaked man nodded once, slowly. Three steps to the thick, black source chord before looking up again. He followed it's meandering path against the wall, crouching just beside the edge where it met wall.

Kaiun turned to watch him, claws a dull teal in the strange light as he lifted his hand.

Numbly, Lyla stared at the screen embedded in the console, waiting. She would read everything stored then, bury herself in it until she was able to understand, but now was not that time. And once it was hers, she didn't have much interest in letting anyone else have it. She exhaled briefly as the transfer finished, edging back a single step.

The power shuddered, lights flickering violently as Vincent cut into the wires. There was a whirr as the backup systems kicked into gear, frantically trying to preserve the normal flow of power. The blare of alarms sounded- an emergency, rather than a threat. That which illuminated the tubes flashing from white to blue.

He scowled as his fingers curled around the wires, small electric shocks causing the bronze to twitch. One jerk, the metallic shriek of chord and it ripped.

And the sound of score of liquid shrieks as the jolt of life tore through them only to abate again.

And in time with those shrieks, the shattering of glass and tearing of metal as Lyla drove her staff through the the screen of the console, reaching to bodily wrench it from the wall even as the alarms sounded, near deafening. Reno all but tumbled through the door then, caught in the glare of the emergency lights, frozen in place as he attempted to take in the scene that awaited him.

"Holy SHIT."

"Vin!" Cait Sith leapt from his perch as it stumbled, crossing the room in a few quick jumps to grab the dark man's cloak as he rose, grabbing hold of the robot to steady him.

"If there are any sentries left." Vincent's voice was thick and scratched, like the gouges across the glass that lay at his feet, all but eroded away. "They know we're here, now."

Rufus was the next in, frowning as he slowed to a stop, shotgun laid across his lap. "I dispatched of three on the way down here. Any others will be along shortly."

"Let them come." Lyla wrenched her weapon from where it had become embedded in the console, doing so single-handedly before moving towards the door. "Destroy them and get out. Dr. Ingram has a great deal of explaining to do. As does Dr. Caraway."

"Shit. Those are all-" Reno began as he continued to stare at the tubes and their dying inhabitants, cutting himself off. "What the hell is this?"

The alarm howled over the sounds of their voices, masking the sharp hum of any coming wheels or feet.

Vincent shook his head, making a single, quick gesture at the Turk still standing in the doorway.

Rude took hold of the president's chair, turning it to angle back towards the exit, giving the room a long, clinical glance over his shoulder.

Lights popped, showering the remains of the projects and their caretaking technology with bright, hot sparks. In the slowly leaking coolant, one took root. Kaiun leapt back from the fire with a curse.

Lyla looked back as the loud pop of sparks sounded, expression now perfectly blank, cold. "... move out and let them burn," she instructed with an almost unnerving level of calm, following Rude and the president into the hallway, weapon in hand. "Let the whole place burn."

"Shit," Reno growled, scrambling to follow the rest. "Think I hear go-bots!"

Kaiun lingered behind them, laying an open palm against the glass.

The creature inside twisted, laying her withered, mis-numbered hand in echo of his. Her eyes, sewn closed at the edges as if to keep them in, stared out at him dully. Already beginning to drown. Alive long enough to experience a dying breath.

He stepped back, swinging the bo in his hands as though it were a baseball bat. Fueled by an emotion he did not know well enough to name. Something slow and bitter in the back of his throat.

The green liquid washed over the small flames, errupting into an inferno as another tank broke. Another.

Vincent pressed his human hand against the touchpad, ripping his black glove free.

UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY it blinked at him, defensive programming overriding the alarm sirens as he had hoped. Doors slamming shut on the blaze with a loud chink of finality as the locks slid into place.

He turned his back on the room, following the others. Tugging his glove back against scarred fingers.

Rufus fired two shots into a lone sentry as they moved towards the elevator, sending the machine crumbling to the ground effortlessly, Reno running ahead to press the button several times in rapid succession until the doors slid open. He waited to usher the others inside, tapping one foot as though it would make the whole process go faster.

Cat and AVALANCHE member, scientist and Turks. President of the company.

"That's it." Vincent said as he stepped inside.

Reno was the last in, sliding into place just as the doors began to close. "Let's get the hell out of this place," he exhaled, pressing against the wall to allow himself at least a small amount of space.

"Let's hope," Lyla said quietly, "that Ingram has answers."


	9. Chapter 9

The door to Ingram's office flew open without ceremony, slamming against the wall behind it and sticking, the doorknob forcing itself through the formerly pristine drywall. The doctor himself was startled, jumping from his seat and dropping the pen he had been holding previously after making a brief show of juggling it. Lyla stormed across the office with Reno struggling to catch up in her wake, wild-eyed and looking as though he was caught somewhere between concerned and confused as Lyla slammed both hands down against the desk.

"What do you know about Project Pandora, Charles," she demanded, leaning so that she met him at eye-level. Ingram rolled back in his chair to distance himself, giving her an astonished look.

"Pandora? We've located it?" he asked, eyes widening. "Remarkable. Really!"

The rest of the group filtered in a step or so behind, assembling in the doorway with an oddly practiced ease. The make up of two longstanding groups, falling into line together.

"You were looking for this?" Lyla asked him, her voice little more than a low growl in her throat. "I thought we were cleaning up after Hojo!"

"Pandora and Prometheus are a part of that," Ingram began calmly, rising from his seat and speaking as one might to an angry child. Slowly, carefully. No sudden movements. "With two of the project directors dead and one retired, someone has to take care of them. Two years already-" he paused. "Were they alright?"

She stared at him a moment, stunned. "No," she said icily. "We pulled the plug and put them out of their misery. That's what this whole thing was supposed to be about."

Ingram looked for a moment as though he had been slapped across the face. "You what?" he asked after a brief silence, horrified.

"We killed them," she snapped in reply. "Like all the rest."

"No," he shot back, "Not like all the rest. Kill the monsters, the ones too far gone. That's why I chose you, Caraway, you're too soft to kill the people! You were supposed to bring them here unscathed like the others!"

"There weren' much tae bring ye," Cait Sith volunteered from Vincent's shoulder doubtfully, watching the exchange.

The dark man lifted a hand, letting it linger between the pair at the desk and the small robot when they looked up.

"Were you also hoping to get to my father about this project?" she demanded, leaning further and drawing a sneer out of Ingram in reply.

"He's the only surviving director. I had hoped that once we were working on his former project he would help us to locate the missing prototype," he explained, his words short, clipped, far colder than she had ever heard from him before.

Lyla pushed herself from the desk and took a step backwards, nearly colliding with Reno - a narrow miss only because he jumped back to allow her space, though did not retreat to fall in line with the others, one hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, the other creeping towards his nightstick. Just in case.

"There's no need," Lyla spat in the doctor's direction. "I'm her."

Ingram went perfectly still, watching the pair of them for a series of moments that seemed to last an eternity. His rage dissolved, scowl fading to be replaced by something else entirely. A smile. "Of course. ... of course. No one would ever think to look so close, would they?" he mused aloud. He chuckled, once. A second time. "That's... divine," he laughed. "Perfect. A shame... aside from being so soft, you showed great promise. ... consider this a greater contribution to science, my dear, than you could have ever made otherwise."

"Lassie!" Cait Sith shouted, displaced with a bump into the President's lap as Vincent darted forward, drawing his gun.

"You're taking her nowhere." He growled softly, leveling Cerberus at the scientist's skull.

Rufus closed both hand around Cait Sith's middle, shifting him to the crook of one arm so that he could lift his own gun, aiming it at the man behind the desk. "Professor Ingram," he began coolly. "Consider yourself fired."

Ingram let out a peal of laughter; perhaps most unsettling was the fact that it was warm, congenial. "You realize that won't stop me from salvaging the project, Mr. President."

"I can think of a few things that would," Lyla snarled, causing Reno to whip his head in her direction as she leapt across the desk, grabbing hold of Ingram and slamming him against the wall soundly, a sharp crack splitting the air. "I admired you. Defended you, trusted you. I wanted to be like you," she hissed, shoving him a second time. "You're another Hojo. Another monster to be 'neutralized,'" she paused, "sir."

He laughed again, even with her hands pressed against his throat. Just as suddenly as she had leapt at him, he wrenched himself from her grip and pusher her downwards, grabbing her by the hair and slamming her head against the top of his desk. "So foolish. Where is your moral high ground now, woman? Kill me and you're no better than any of those you're always speaking out against. Though I doubt that you could achieve it if you tried."

"You get the FUCK back," Reno shouted, lurching forward to strike at Ingram with his nightstick, a flicker of electricity sending sparks along the shaft.

Rude cleared the wheelchair with surprising ease, though he lingered by the president's side rather than leap into the fray. Fists were too close a call at this juncture, he could serve the purpose better by blocking the door.

For the moment.

Vincent shot without pretense, moving to the side in a crouch to avoid the off chance Reno might throw himself into the line of their fire.

"Not all of us claim the moral highground." He said simply, unblinking as the rounds went off with a deafening bark. "Doctor."

The shot caught him in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards and release his hold on his former assistant, leaving her to crumple to the ground beneath the desk. Ingram merely looked down at his wound, disbelieving, snapping his gaze upward when another shot connected, this time with his abdomen - from Rufus' direction.

The president's face was calm and emotionless as it had ever been.

"Inconvenient," Ingram remarked, looking down again to watch as blood blossomed over his shirt. Even from where the others stood, his skin could be seen knitting itself back together through the hole the shot had made in the cloth.

"Reno." Vincent's tone was warning. He shot again, twice. These aimed at the shoulder and the gut.

"Grabber, Laddie! Grabber!" Howled Cait Sith, pulling his megaphone free of- well. Where ever he pulled it from.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it," Reno shouted back, already in the process of diving to the floor to collect Lyla from beneath the desk. She resisted at first, trying to use the floor to push herself back to her feet, but her head swam and she collapsed against him when he hoisted her up, pulling her back towards the door.

The bullets struck, hitting their mark perfectly. With each strike, he stumbled back. Each time he bled. Each time, he healed. He looked up and met Vincent's gaze, laughing. "You'll waste all your bullets," he lectured. "Seems a silly thing." Even as he spoke, something about him began to change. He grew taller by inches. His features longer, his countenance growing somehow darker. He raised his right hand as it erupted into spindly claws, skin turning to pitch black, nails like knives that gleamed, dully, as though slicked with oil. The rest of him followed suit.

Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Nice trick." He said evenly, tucking his gun away. "Reeve."

"A-aye?" Cait Sith asked, clambering up on the back of Rufus' chair to inspect Lyla worriedly as Reno reached their hold.

"I need you to make a phone call."

If the robot needed to know who, he didn't have the chance to ask. The dark man howled, his body buckling in against itself as his joints reshaped, color soaking into his skin and erupting at the ends, taking shape in sharp, white horns and too many needle teeth.

"W-whoa!" Reno yelped, moving to give Cait Sith better clearance as he carefully propped Lyla up against the wall. Rufus moved his own chair in front of them, aiming and firing off three more shots at the professor. Even if they didn't hurt him, they would slow him down, for a moment at least.

Lyla groaned as her head lightly connected with the wall behind her. "Nn. Stop him," she murmured, her head dropping.

"Yeah, yeah, we've got this, princess," Reno assured her, awkwardly patting one shoulder as he looked over his own to see Vincent complete his shift. "... looks like Vincent has this pretty under control. Hey, stay conscious, alright? No passing out!"

Ingram smiled at the change, showing teeth laced with the black ooze of pollution, malleable strings that stitched his lips together over so many white knives beneath. "Oh. I knew you would be perfect. Cutting you up will be a pleasure, indeed. I ache to see how your insides work," he hissed, and that stitching broke and reformed itself with each word, dripping, so much like the rest of him.

The Galian beast snarled at him, all razor blades and tightly controlled force, leaping across the desk with a shift of it's powerful, bent legs.

Reaching across the small divide the robot grabbed Reno's phone from his breast pocket, flipping it open and punching a number by memory.

"Hello?" He called into the receiver. "H-hey! M'callin' for Vin!"

In time with the sound of his name the creature howled again, the sound echoing off the walls in jarring vibrations that shook the frames against the walls. It lashed out, sinking one clawed hand deep into the ooze of the professor.

He was met by the pierce of blades, Ingram shoving one hand up through the beast's stomach from beneath, grinning his tar-blackened grin as he twisted his hand and clawed sideways, ripping it from the flesh a moment later only to reach out and strike at the beast's face. He brought his own legs up to thrust hard against his opponent's stomach, an attempt to force his way out from beneath.

It grunted, letting itself be moved rather than take the brunt of the hit, circling back to leap again, sinking claws and teeth into the creature from another angle. Dark energy pooled around the wounds, dripping acidicly.

Rude frowned, pulling his gloves into place. "...Can't hurt it." He observed, touching a finger to his own materia.

Beneath the claws and teeth the ooze began to reform, covering the wounds in the solid flesh and bone below, filling the holes and knitting itself back together. The creature laughed, a strange howl of a sound, and as suddenly as they had locked horns, Vincent founds his claws empty, and his opponent hovered on the opposite side of the room, grinning broadly.

"I'm very interested to see what will happen when Prometheus returns," he thought aloud, training gleaming black eyes on Lyla's crumpled form even as she struggled to sit up straight. "Will you find each other as you were meant to? And of what nature will such a meeting be... perhaps one will kill the other." The grin softened to a dripping, knowing smile. "Or perhaps not. I eagerly await the results."

And then he was gone, a faint ring of acidic ooze left on the floor in his wake.

The Galian beast howled it's frustration, the sound as shrill, somehow, as it was deep. With a cracking thump it slammed taloned hands against the hardwood of the man's desk, shooting a crack down it from three sides.

The rage subsided, black seeping out of the bent shape as it retracted inwards. Horns and muzzle fading back into the rounder features of a human face.

"Not exactly," Rufus began, "The sort of 'untrustworthy' I was expecting from him."

Lyla groaned softly as she rocked forward to her hands and knees, struggling to her feet despite Reno's attempts to force her back down, though she did use him to steady herelf. "... we have to find Prometheus before he does."

She watched for a moment as the beast reverted to his original shape, and she stumbled forward a step, Reno catching her arm before she could fall. "V-Vincent. Are you alright?"

He said nothing for a moment, breathing heavily into the table. His posture too much like a wounded man. Then he straightened, his face impassive as always.

"We need to get outside." He said simply, stepping around the ruin of Ingram's workspace. "Lyla. You have the report on Pandora?"

"Yes." She reached to gather up her bag from its place on the floor, easing the strap over her shoulder. "Everything's in here."

He nodded, passing the group of them with the faintest hint of a limp. "Then we'll make the most of our headstart."

"Yo. Drac," Reno interrupted. "Here." He ran his fingers over the materia socketed into the bracer beneath his jacket, pausing when he found the right one, casting a green glow in the dark man's direction.

"Outside," Rufus echoed finally, turning his chair towards the hallway. "Who did you call, Reeve?"

Cait Sith opened his mouth to reply, but Vincent's turn cut him off. "Back up." He said.

Rude glanced at his partner.

Hopefully backup wasn't a blond headcase, desperately in need of a piece of clothing that wasn't the color blue.

"What the FUCK is goin' on in here?" a gruff, accented voice asked from the hallway. Reno looked up to see a stubbly man wearing a pair of goggles atop his head and holding a brown paper lunch sack in his hand. "Reeve didn't mention you were havin' a party. Vin, Shera sent you a sandwich and some potato salad, says you need t'eat more."

"...Thanks, Cid." He said after a moment, dubiously accepting the package. "Afraid we might need some help."

"Figured as much. Lucky for you I was already in th'area," Cid informed him. "Made for a short trip. Wanna explain to me what's goin' on, then?"


	10. Chapter 10

It was Cait Sith, for the most part, who filled Cid in on the happenings of the past few days, with some additional input from Reno and a few well timed nods courtesy of Rude.

Vincent, before too long at all, had wandered off. Presumably to lick his wounds.

Lyla had stayed long enough to remind Cait Sith of a stray detail or two, but eventually, the pounding on the inside of her skull began to get to her. She asked Cid if there was a place she could sit in quiet, and he directed her to the cabins near the bridge. She had wandered into one and slumped heavily against the bed, leaving the door open behind her so that she could still hear the faintest traces of the conversation the others were having.

"Well, fuck, you're all in some deep shit then, ain't ya? Though I guess I better count myself in," Cid grumbled, "Seeing as Vincent called me in for help an' all. Not that I ain't glad to lend a hand. Gotta say, though, weird bein' on the same side as Shinra."

Reno smiled thinly. "We do what we've gotta do, just like you."

"Well, cannae really draw lines in black 'n white anymore, can ye?" Cait Sith asked with a shrug from atop Reno's head. "Everyone's jes trying tae do what they can for th'planet these days. Nae much choice, there. -But! If ye help us, we ought tae be able tae outrace 'im! Even if we cannae outfox 'im!"

"S'true, we're all fightin' for the same thing these days," Cid reasoned aloud, leaning against the railing beside the helm, one hand still resting happily at the wheel. "Sounds like this mess is only gonna get nastier before it gets better. Y'know where we're supposed to be headin' next?"

"...Nae." Cait Sith deflated slightly, ears falling flat against his head. They shot up a moment later, however, with revelation. "Oh! But the lassie migh'! She 'ad all the papers from th'mess on 'er. We ought tae ask 'er."

"Shoulda thought t'ask her before I sent her off t'crash," Cid sighed. "Didn't realize she'd be the one t'go to. Anyone feelin' brave enough t'go ask?"

Cait Sith slipped down enough to look Reno in the eyes, upsidown.

Reno frowned up at the cat. "She's gonna hit me again."

"Ye wouldnae send me alone would ye?" He asked in a pitiful tone. "She could punt me!"

Reno narrowed one eye, wondering if there was any way he could outstare a robot. "Fine," he said. "I'll -accompany- you."

"Aye. I s'ppose tha' could be acceptable."

The redhead reached up to steady the robot atop his head. "Alright," he sighed heavily, "Let's go." Leaving Rufus and Rude in the company of the captain, he headed in the same direction Cid had pointed Lyla just a little while earlier.

"You'd think it was the final march for both of you." Vincent's voice came from behind them in the far corridor. He was leaning just inside the door, most of the weight on his left foot, arms folded across his chest.

Reno frowned again. "Because she's going to -hit me.-"

"I'm too young tae be tossed off an airship." Cait Sith added, holding his small crown against his chest.

The ex-terrorist watched them for a beat before pushing off the wall, passing them in three long strides. "Go on." He rasped. "Let me."

"Someday," Reno feigned swooning as he turned to walk back towards the bridge, "I'll be brave enough to tell Vincent he's my hero."

"Aye." Cait Sith said cheerfully, perching atop his head again. "We can make the laddie a card."

* * *

He paused outside the door, leaning in rather than taking another step. "You're awake." the shapeshifter observed.

She shifted just enough to glance up at him over her shoulder, eyes just barely peeking up over the edge of her arm as she remained sprawled on her stomach. The bed wasn't the most comfortable, but it was serving its purpose just fine. "My skull is throbbing too much to sleep. I just wanted some quiet," she told him.

"We need a heading." He said evenly. "If you have one in mind. Give me that, and I can let you be."

"... Junon," she said after a moment of extended silence. "... he said something about a Project Prometheus. I don't know anything about it, but my... father will. Most likely. Be able to give us some direction."

"Alright." He nodded, turning to go, but paused, hand on the door. "I'll see what Cid has for a headache."

She may have smiled faintly behind her arm, though perhaps only her sleeve would ever know. "You're coming back, then? ... thank you."

He nodded, the sound of his footsteps lingering long after his figure faded from view.

It was 15 minutes before he returned, offering her two little white pills from his human hand. There was water in the other, though he passed it into flesh fingers before holding it out towards her.

She carefully pushed herself up into a seated position, gingerly taking the pills and water from him one after the other, setting the glass aside when she was finished. "Thanks," she said again, attempting a grateful smile and failing miserably, only managing a frown instead.

"How ironic," she said finally, after a few more moments of silence.

Vincent arched a brow, waiting to see if the gesture would yield an explanation without having to speak.

"... all those years studying it like I was on the outside. And then I find out I'm not. I'm right in the middle."

"Yes." He agreed quietly, hesitating before he sat beside her, perching on the edge of the bed. "And no."

"No?" she echoed, glancing upwards.

"What has changed?"

"Nothing has changed. I know that." She looked downwards, forehead creased. "Where I come from is different, but that doesn't change who I am. I'm still myself. My father has some things to explain to me, but it will be fine. ... I was wrong about Dr. Ingram, but I'm not wrong about my father. I can't be. I can be angry, but I know he would have done what he thought was best. So nothing has changed. ... I like to think I'm a reasonable person."

A lengthy pause followed, and she forced herself to look at him again, truly distressed for the first time since they had met in Ingram's office, rather than the irate he had undoubtedly become used to. "I have nothing to be sad about. So why does it still ache so badly inside? I feel sick and empty."

He looked back at her for a long moment, then down at the claw in his lap. Flexing the fingers slowly. When Vincent spoke, it was quieter than before. Low, and even. "You want to know if you're still a human being." He said at last, "If your heart beat means you have a soul."

"Yes," she said softly, her own voice barely above a whisper. "... or did I just imagine one for myself?"

He watched her from his strange eyes, sitting back to the soft hiss of leather and fabric. "The manticore." he said after a moment, the odd rasp faltering in his voice.

"The manticore?" she echoed, watching him in turn, blue eyes following as he leaned back.

He took a breath, shoulders shifting as though it were necessary to brace himself for too much talking.

"The manticore traveled to the pillar of knowledge, desperate to know if a beast with the face of a man could possess a soul. He sought an answer among the ancients, in the vast knowledge of the planet's heart. ...Eventually, finding no source that he could trust... no answer to soothe his troubled mind... he gave up his search. It was ... there. Where he settled in wait to die... that a child happened on him." He paused, uncertain. Hesitant to continue.

She gave him a curious look then. "... what happened?" she asked finally.

"...The child asked the beast what troubled it. And when it answered... he laughed." Vincent looked down at his hands. "Don't you know... he said. That only things... with souls to worry... worry if they have one, or not."

"... thank you," she told him again, after another long pause. "... that helps. Doesn't make the feeling go away, not yet, but... helps, some."

He nodded, glancing back at her over his arm.

"Did you wonder the same thing?" she asked hesitantly. "... I suppose it's different, isn't it."

"I wondered." He said after a beat. "But only briefly." He hesitated for another beat. "There is no guilt, without a soul to bear it."

"You're right, of course. ... makes feeling upset seem silly. Being sad is... pointless. But maybe that's not it. I just feel... strange."

Vincent looked up at her. "Do you laugh?" He asked evenly.

She blinked a few times before looking back to meet his eyes. "Not so much, lately," she admitted, more honestly than she cared to say. "But I have. I can. And will again, I'm sure."

"Why."

"Why? Why does anyone?"

He waited patiently for an answer, gaze never flickering.

"To be honest, I'm not sure how to answer. It's not something you decide to do," she began carefully. "People just do. ... part of being human. Is that the answer you were looking for? It's the only one I have."

"Sadness is the same."

"... you feel it because it's part of being alive," she conceded. "... do you laugh?"

"Not in a long time."

"It shows."

Her companion nodded. If this information surprised him, he was a master at concealing it.

"Do you ever plan to again?" she asked, watching him carefully. "Or will you stay unhappy because of something that wasn't your fault, something that was done to you?" She paused, frowning slightly. "... I was betrayed by someone I trusted. It hurts. But I can't imagine never laughing again."

"I don't blame myself for what wasn't my fault." He murmured.

"It's not my business. If a situation ever arises where you deem it appropriate, maybe you should try to smile. Just a little bit."

Vincent considered that for a moment. "You've seen that, already, haven't you?"

The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "I thought I might have hallucinated it. It's hard to tell. You keep your mouth covered."

"Adds to the mystery." He told her in a deadpan.

"You have a pretty good handle on that part."

"Practice."

She smiled at him in reply, more genuinely than those before it, though with a certain degree of weariness. "I feel better. ... I didn't think that would happen so quickly."

Vincent watched her for a moment, his expression still placid and closed. Though there seemed to be the barest edge of 'at a loss' around its edges.

"I won't tell any of the others," she informed him when he chose silence as his response. "Wouldn't want to detract from the mystery."

"That's two you have on me." He noted, rising carefully to his feet.

"You'll get one on me eventually, if we work together long enough," she offered.

"I'll look forward to evening the field." He murmured, offering her a nod that was almost a bow.

She smiled again, nodding back in turn, scooting back onto the bed enough that she faced the door. "We'll see, then."

Vincent nodded. "Try to rest. We'll be in Junon soon."

"I fully expect the confrontation there will not end with you wounded, at least."

"We'll see." He echoed her statement of a moment before. "I'm better at that than you think."

She smiled again. "If my father stabs anyone, it will probably be Reno."

"We'll let him lead, then." Vincent said simply. And then he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

The pain in her head had calmed itself down to a dull roar instead of a full-tilt scream by the time they landed in Junon. Lyla checked the time on her phone as she left the ship, waiting for the others to do the same and assemble. Cid was the next one off, though he stood watching for the others, as though to make sure no one was left behind.

Late afternoon, Lyla confirmed. Her father would certainly be home. Good. She had questions for him.

The remaining party members assembled over the next few minutes from various corners of the Shera. Filtering down the ramp with a series of exchanged looks.

It was Cait Sith, having apparently found a permanent home atop Reno's head, who spoke first when they stood together. "So whattaye suggest we do, Lassie?" he asked.

Reno reached up to absently swat Cait Sith's paw away from his line of vision. "Watch where you stick that," he warned, then turned his attention to the brunette standing across from him, raising a brow as she rubbed at her right temple with her index and middle finger.

"We'll talk to Dr. Caraway," she said evenly, wincing slightly. "Dr. Ingram said something about Prometheus. We need to find out who, or what, and where Prometheus is. If we know, we can get to it before Ingram has what he wants. ... I'm assuming my father will know. He was on this project... must have known about the other."

The cat shifted, climbing to Reno's other shoulder. "Do ye think we should all go?"

"Probably not," Lyla admitted. "A smaller group would be best."

"I'll go, of course," Rufus volunteered. "Perhaps my presence will help impress upon him how very dire the situation is." Even now, he tossed out a charming smile, though his voice now had a colder edge to it.

"Maybe yer muscle shoul'wait out here" Cait Sith volunteered, waving a hand at Rude and his ride. "Cannae be too careful, intimidatin'."

"That's fine." Rufus glanced from Reno to Rude and back again. "Go on. Go have a drink."

Rude looked at his partner, and then at the cat.

"Aye. I'll go too." Cait Sith agreed enthusiastically.

Across the ramp, Vincent offered Cid an even look over his folded arms.

Reno smirked up at his passenger. "Glad to have y'along."

Cid shrugged as the door to the ship began to close, turning his back to it now that everyone was present. "I'd like t'come listen if it ain't too much trouble. You should go, though, Vin."

"Is four too many?" Vincent asked, more as a thought aloud than in search of some answer. He stepped away from the side of the Shera, joining the half circle that had formed of the other party members.

"Four should be fine," Lyla told him, dropping her hand away from her forehead and letting it rest atop the bag at her side. "I would like you to come, if you don't mind, Vincent."

Reno raised a brow and turned, steadying Cait Sith by putting a hand on either side of his torso. "C'mon, Rude, let's not waste time. I need a stiff drink." With his back turned to the group, it was much, much easier to hide the snicker he just wasn't able to swallow down.

Cait Sith waved over his shoulder as they headed off.

Behind him, Vincent's brows raised in surprise. But he nodded. "Lead the way, then." he said quietly.

As Reno, Rude and Cait Sith split off on their own, Lyla began to walk in the opposite direction, taking over Reno's post and wheeling the president along as they went. Cid stayed at the rear with Vincent, arms folded across his chest, cigarette perched between his lips, now and then threatening to fall and only dropping a couple of ashes instead.

"Y'look surprised," he remarked quietly.

"I only wonder what she thinks I can add." Vincent replied, keeping easy step with his friend.

"You were there t'see everything, weren't ya?"

"Mn." He nodded. "So was she."

"Maybe girl is countin' on flyin' off the handle," Cid reasoned as they followed. The walk from the airport wasn't terribly far; less than five minutes later they stood in front of one a typical Junon house, tall and narrow like all its neighbors. Lyla stepped away from the president's chair to unlock the door, sticking her head in before stepping through it fully.

"Hello? You home?"

The ex-Turk folded his arms. If he had an opinion on planning for the loss of control, he kept it to himself for the moment. Waiting instead just behind the young Shinra president's chair.

All things considered, the day could have been worse, he supposed.

A faint call of, "Oh! Hello!" sounded from somewhere within the house. The voice was a bright and cheerful baritone. Hurried footsteps drew closer while Lyla pushed the door fully open, beckoning for the others to follow her in without looking back. Cid stepped up to wheel Rufus through as the she stepped aside to make way.

A middle-aged man dressed comfortably in jeans a button-down shirt appeared from what looked to be the kitchen. He was on the tall side, broad without being heavy, clearly the sort of man who took care of himself despite being retired. His hair was probably once brown, now going rather gray, the lines on his face placing him in his late fifties.

"... oh. Company. Well, welcome, come in and make yourselves at-" he paused as his eyes rested on each member of the group. "Mr. President."

"A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Caraway, I've heard great things," Rufus said simply. "Pardon the intrusion."

"It's no trouble, of course," the doctor fumbled, looking puzzled. He froze again when he saw Vincent. A frown flickered across his lips, and for a moment, he looked as though he had seen a ghost. "I know you, don't I," he remarked, not particularly in the form of a question.

The caped man's expression didn't flicker, but he lowered his jaw just enough to hide his mouth entirely from view. "No." He said. "But our pasts have met."

"Have they," Caraway mused aloud, studying what little he could see of the dark-haired man's face. He looked away after a moment, frown still tugging at his lips and making his laugh lines look decidedly less pleasant. "... I'm guessing none of you are here for tea or anything of that nature."

Lyla shook her head, slowly. She opened her mouth to explain, and no sound came out. She paused a moment before trying again. "What do you know about Project Prometheus?" she asked finally, looking squarely at him. She left so much unsaid, but her face said it for her, and Caraway felt sickness begin to mount in his stomach.

"... Prometheus." He echoed, dark brows knit together, concerned and troubled at the same time. "That's what that doctor in Edge has you working on."

"Meant to, maybe," Lyla corrected him. Her voice was lower than she would have liked, quieter; it didn't suit her and she was annoyed with herself for it. She made an effort to approach normalcy. "You and I need to talk. At length. And we will, later. But right now we need to know who Prometheus is so we can get to him before Dr. Ingram. ... Pandora and Prometheus are companion projects, aren't they?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "They are, yes. Prometheus is a little older. Part of a larger project, named later on when Pandora began."

Something... about the way it was said. Something unsettled.

Vincent caught Cid's eye from the corner of his own, wondering if the mounting dread that had crept in behind them was only a figment of his own.

Cid caught Vincent's glance and grimaced in reply. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever was said next. Rufus listened quietly, hands in his lap, eyes cold and very still as they watched Dr. Caraway's every move and nervous habit.

"Prometheus was originally a small offshoot of the Jenova Project," Caraway explained. "It was Professor Hojo's doing. ... they all were, in the end. Gast meant well but got himself in too deep, Hojo's claws were in him until the finish. Professor Hojo injected his unborn son with mako and Jenova cells. Various other things. He never could just stop at that. The child was born and showed early on that he was faster, better, stronger than the rest of us. Sephiroth is known for many things. He is also the Prometheus prototype."

Ah hah. And there it was. His failure come to haunt him again.

Vincent closed the fingers of his human hand, knotting them tight enough for the blunt nails to bite into his skin through the dark glove.

He was quiet a moment, considering. Jaw set so tightly he didn't realize it had begun to ache until he released the tension in order to speak. "You were in the Midgar port facility six months ago." He said evenly, no trace of the turmoil in his tone.

Caraway looked surprised at Vincent's knowledge of the situation, but nodded once to confirm. "Yes, I was. When Hojo died, I saw an opportunity to shut down the project. It took a couple of years to find and buy the information I needed to get in. Didn't do me much good. I never reached where they kept the clones. I was injured badly by a sentry and had to retreat. Haven't been able to get back since." It was then that Rufus noticed the cane their host was leaning on rather heavily, and he frowned in acknowledgement.

"You didn't get hit by a car," Lyla accused evenly.

"Afraid not," he admitted wearily. "I wanted to shut down the life support and put them out of their misery."

"We took care of it," Lyla told him.

"Unless there are more than those in that particular facility," Rufus added.

Well. That explained it. Though it effectively took the knees out of the idea that he had been trying to outrace Ingram. Vincent was quiet a moment.

"Ingram didn't know of Lyla's connection to Pandora." He said at last. "Would he have access to any information connecting Prometheus to Sephiroth?"

"A lot of information about Prometheus came out a few years ago during the Meteor Crisis, though it was never called by that name, that I saw. He may not realize, it may buy some time, but I wouldn't be willing to bet on it. Information on Sephiroth and the cloning project directly linked to him was leaked during the Reunion spectacle. More than that, if he has reached the files on Pandora, and knows any amount about Prometheus, it's likely that he's aware... Sephiroth is named and identified as the prototype in the archives." He frowned, eyes resting on his daughter a moment.

"It wasn't the same for Pandora, because the prototype was... misplaced. No one knows about 'Eve' or her location. It makes sense that Ingram wouldn't know, though if he had ever seen the other projects in person, he would have been able to make the connection."

"It's likely, then," Rufus began, "That Ingram knows precisely who he is looking for."

"Yes, though the prototype lost his 'natural' life... nine years ago. The trouble with using Jenova is that it doesn't give up on the host body so easily. Avalanche dispatched him again a few years ago. Whether he gets up on his own or Ingram has to make an effort is unknown."

"There wasn't anything left to reassemble after the incident in the crater." Vincent frowned. "And no trace of the remnants of the incident two years ago. If Sephiroth is what he wants. Then there must be another location where the DNA is being stored."

"It's entirely possible," Caraway conceded. "Hojo continued trying to create Sephiroth clones to the very last. I wouldn't be surprised if there was still some in storage."

Well. Wasn't -that- just what everyone wanted to hear.

"Then we have to make it before him."

"How will we know where to look?" Lyla asked. "He created those clones everywhere he went. ... Pandora was in one central location, but Prometheus hasn't been."

Caraway shook his head. "The last pair of soldiers he attempted to turn into clones... it was done in Nibelheim. Shinra mansion. The whole town turned into a project, he hired actors to play the part as though the town had never burned."

"Great," Cid gruffed at last. "Just where I wanna be."

Vincent lowered his head, thinking. "There was a library there." He said after a beat. "An archive in hardcopy."

"Then we get there as soon as possible," Lyla reasoned. "Even if the DNA's not there, the files are."

"As good a place to begin as any other," Rufus remarked.

* * *

The bar was roughly the same as it had been nights before, right down to the cluster of members who were excited to see the return of the fortune-telling gambling cat.

Rude slid his partner's next beer across the table as he took a seat, himself, watching the ruckus with mild entertainment.

"Gonna need like seven of these," Reno grumbled as he knocked back half of the glass' contents in one fell swoop. "Which means it'll have to be fast if I'm gonna get 'em in before the prez needs us again."

Rude nodded, slouching forward.

"S'pose it has been a long day, aye, laddie?" Cait Sith sighed, sliding down his arm and onto the table. "But what's got ye all needin' tae be drunk?"

"That guy turned into an oozething in front of us, y'know," Reno pointed out, very physically pointing his index finger at the cat beside him. "And it's not like getting drunk is out of the ordinary for our kind. This is what Rude and I do."

"Aye." The cat agreed, playing with the rather overzied dice in his paws. "Tha's a good point."

"Lyla." Rude added with a frown, taking a drink.

The redhead frowned, leaning heavily against the table and slumping so that his chin was cupped in his upturned hand, his shades just slightly crooked on top of his head. "Yeah. Just a shock."

"Wonder wha' they're talkin' about." Cait Sith agreed, mimicking the gesture of the other two men at the table.

"We'll hear soon enough," Reno sighed, taking another drink, slowing down a bit after his rushed start. "... it was weird, you know, seein' all of those tubes holding things that looked like her. It's got me thinking 'Sephiroth' all over again."

"It was kinna eerily familiar, wasn' it."

Rude nodded, his frown deepening a bit. "...like it's starting over."

Reno frowned, polishing off his first mug and signaling the waitress for a refill. "'Cept this time it's closer to home 'cause it's my ex-girlfriend."

Another nod from the large, multiply pierced man to his left.

Cait Sith shifted. "Ye don' think it could really be bad as all that, do ye?"

"Don't know. Head just goes to the worst possible scenario at this point. The way she was acting in the lab, on our way out? Never seen her like that before. Pissed, yeah. Angry, yeah, sad, sure, but not..." Reno paused, squinting into his empty glass. "Calm. Like that. Kind of scared me."

Rude glanced up, fixing his partner with a brief look.

"... yeah, and she shoved me into a wall and it left a lasting impression, I know, I know."

He nodded again, frowning into his beer before throwing it back.

"If she does that when she's not evil, how many walls is she gonna throw me through when she is," he grumbled morosely.

"Come on now, laddie! Ye don' know she'll go all woogaly on us, yet."

"Hypothetically evil," Reno corrected.

"Look at i'this way." He offered in what the cat hoped was a helpful tone. "We beat Jenova once. An' this time, we won' be busy fightin' each other tae boot!"

"Yeah. By killing Sephiroth," Reno pointed out. "Okay, you can't tell, alright? This doesn't leave this table. But killin' her, that would be the shittiest part."

Rude sat back in his chair, frown deepening as he signaled for another beer.

Cait Sith cocked his head. "Oh, aye, laddie. Yer dirty laundry's safe with me."

Reno waved dismissively, starting in on the second drink the waitress had brought him - thankfully, along with a full pitcher. "Yeah. Thanks. You're both pals."

"..." Rude nodded, leaning forward again as he returned to drinking.

"Been awhile." Cait Sith agreed- mostly as a shot in the dark. "Wonder if they had tae fight with im."

"Hmm?"

"'Er da?" The cat frowned. "Ye don' think i'turned intae a fight, do ye?"

"Oh. Hey." Reno frowned again, looking up from his glass. "That would suck. I mean, if he was a monster like Ingram was, too. Don't know though. ... I hope not." His phone rang then as though on cue; he glanced at the screen before flipping it open and putting it to his ear.

"Sir. We have a new destination? ... yes, sir."

"Guess nae then?" Cait Sith guessed, hopping back onto Reno's shoulder easily.

Reno shook his head, pocketing his phone as he shoved himself away from the table, pausing to finish off the contents of his glass before they left. "Didn't give details, but he sounds perfectly healthy. Sounds like it went alright. Besides. Her dad's not a mean guy. Just... large."

"Oh." the robot blinked at him, situating himself more comfortably on the Turk's head. "Aye."

Rude shoved his chair back into the table, smirking all the while.

Reno glared back at his partner. "Don't even start, bra."

The larger man held up his hands.

"Common then, laddies! We don' wanna keep the Captain waitin'!"


	12. Chapter 12

The trip to Nibelheim was a great deal longer than the trip to Junon; it was late night by the time they landed, and while some of their number might have wanted to sleep before investigating an old mansion, time was currently not on their side. Every minute they wasted was a minute Ingram got closer to Prometheus.

Even Cid was yawning as he left the ship, scowling in the general direction of the mansion. Not much good had ever come from that place. Well, Vincent. And even then it was a toss-up.

Saying the ex-Turk had been quiet on the trip up was more like saying water was wet than anything, but even by his own, unsettling high standards Vincent had been taciturn. And removed.

No one but Cid could have made a guess at which part of the ship he had banished himself to once his post to right had been abandoned. But the old pilot said nothing, and no one asked.

Rufus was stern-faced as he left the ship with Reno and Rude in tow, Reno now carrying his usual passenger even as he pushed the president's chair. "It's been years since I've visited the mansion," Rufus admitted, his business-like tone having faded for the time being. "The last visit was not pleasant. Overrun with monsters, and all of Hojo's things lying around. I imagine it's much the same."

Rude paused at the doorway, the strange expression on his face more effective than any snap of words.

Vincent was standing at the doorway. He turned to look at the sound of their approaching feet, the faint frown that tugged his lips almost puzzled.

"'Ow in th'planet's name didja do that, lad?" Cait Sith asked, letting his head drop to one side in confusion.

"That was quick," Lyla murmured, eyeing Vincent as she brought up the rear along with Cid.

The gunman waited another beat before he pushed the door open. It came away without trouble, creaking slightly on slow hinges.

"Hello." He said to nothing in particular, crossing the threshold with a deliberate step.

Lyla followed him inside, carefully stepping around the president and his men to keep up, with Cid not far behind, though he moved at a more casual meander, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Huge," Lyla exhaled under her breath, eyes darting from one side of the main room to the other. "... where's the library?"

"The basement," Rufus supplied as Reno assisted him inside. "There's another upstairs. But it's Hojo's things you want. That would be the basement."

Vincent's human hand brushed over the thick coat of dust that marred the polished railing, leaving bright chestnut trails in the muted grays. He headed up the stairs at a sedate, but steady gate. Eyes focused on the floor at the top, unwilling to look where he did not have to.

"Oi! Vin! 'E said the basement, laddie!"

Cid shook his head, holding a hand up to silence Cait Sith. "He knows what he's doin', y'know. Let 'im take his time. He'll steer us right."

The robot frowned, peering down at the pilot from the top of Reno's head. But he nodded, pressing a gloved hand over his muzzle.

Reno swayed slightly, a hand shooting up to steady the robot as it did so often. "Hey, watch it," he warned, "You're setting me off-balance."

"I'm afraid I'll be unable to accompany for the time being," Rufus said ruefully, glancing down at his chair. He had not thought about the limitations he still managed to forget that he had.

"I'll stay with you, sir," Reno offered casually, discreetly poking Cait Sith's belly.

"Then I'm following him." Lyla made her way towards the stairs, careful to give Vincent plenty of space as he slowly wound his way upwards. Cid looked from the group to the pair on the stars and began to follow them at a slow, deliberate tromp.

"Aye! We'll stand guard out here!" Cait Sith called, throwing them a salute that was interrupted by a faint mew. He cocked his head, giving them a wave.

"We wont be long." Vincent said simply, pausing at the top of the stairs only long enough to take a breath. Pushing open the door to his right with the same mechanical sway.

"Reno," Rufus said coolly. "Stop fondling the robot cat."

* * *

The downward spiral that lead to the basement was daunting to say the least. Narrow, old, with no railing to speak of and only a smooth stone wall on the right-hand side. Nothing to hold onto should you lose your footing. "Fuck," Cid grumbled as they began their descent, "Poor architecture, that's what this is."

It might have gotten a return comment in another place. Vincent's claws tapped against the brick as he moved, pausing to peer down the pitch black of the tunnel, and then up again into the fading light. "Almost there." He said instead, tone flat and rough.

Lyla had fallen quiet, though no one had been especially talkative since leaving Junon. The group had been given a summary of what Dr. Caraway had told them by Rufus, and it had set everyone on edge. Now, on top of that, Vincent had become tense and chilly even for his own standards. She frowned slightly. She had done enough research to know that this was the last place he wanted to be.

The trodden earth at the bottom of the stairs was marred in places by a stray brick or pavestone. Vincent frowned down the long corridor, alert for the wandering zombie or marauding ghost. But none, it seemed, saw fit to disturb the eerie peace of the place.

He lay a hand against the gun beneath his cloak, wondering why the gesture was exactly the opposite of comforting, at all.

"The end of this hallway?" Lyla asked quietly, hand closed over her staff as she looked towards the end of the corridor. It vanished into darkness, and now and then she heard the faint keening of bats.

He nodded, heading down the path without another word, ducking just enough to miss a low hanging spiderweb.

The library was as he remembered it, down to uneven topple of a stack of far books, and the half fraying straps that adorned the specimen table in the center of the room. He scowled without meaning to, closing his eyes to banish the image of the leather as it pulled, straining to keep his thrashing at bay.

Lyla frowned as she took a moment to survey the front room, gaze lingering on a pair of holding tubs along the far wall, their soft green glow proof that they were still operational. She guessed just barely, thanks to years of neglect, but regardless, it looked like Hojo had been happy to take his work wherever he went.

She glanced at Vincent, studying what she could see of his face over his cowl.

"Creepy," Cid muttered, "Fuckin' creepy. Bastard left everything jes sittin' around."

"He felt no need to conceal his work." The statement came more thickly than he'd meant for it to, and the gunman turned, finding his interest drawn suddenly to the rear portions of the office. "This way."

She nodded slowly, taking a few steps down the book-lined corridor after him. Cid frowned at the books as they passed. He'd only visited the place in passing before. Never managed to develop a fondness for it, though he doubted anyone could. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, as though not even the monsters dared to come here.

And... then again.

Kaiun looked up from the book he'd splayed across his lap, one foot still on the desk. He flashed them a grin as the party filtered into view, holding up a beringed hand in wave.

Lyla blinked at the new arrival. "How?"

The dark skinned man held open his hands. "Remarkable coincidence."

"Because that's very believable," Lyla said doubtfully.

"Who the fuck is this kid?" Cid asked, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Difficult to say." Vincent watched Kaiun carefully, even as he threw his feet from the desk and climbed amicably to a standing position. "Be we seem to keep running in to each other."

"Damndest thing, isn't it." He agreed, holding out the book. "So. Looking for a bit of history, right?"

"You could say that," Lyla began cautiously, hesitating a moment before reaching out to take the book from him, opening the cover to examine the first page. She paused and looked up. "You're not even burned. Why am I... honestly not surprised?"

"Yeah, well. What can I say? Lady Luck thinks I'm something special." He ruffled the short pull of hair on the back of his neck, glancing over his shoulder. "If you're looking for a world history, it's pretty much summed up in the pile, that direction." Kaiun shifted, jerking a thumb over his left shoulder. "But most of the stuff in here is a bunch of lunatic chicken scratch."

"That's good," Lyla informed him, wandering towards the desk at the center of the room. "We need that lunatic's chicken scratch."

He shrugged, spreading his hands out to encompass the room. "Well, I hope you brought a sandwich, kids. You're gonna be here awhile."

Vincent frowned, surveying the walls of books. "We should move it, if we can."

Lyla looked to him, momentarily puzzled. "The bookshelf? ... Reno and Rude could carry most of it," she mused aloud, looking back to survey the shelf and its contents. "Not really certain where to start looking, there's so many. ... each take a corner of the room, I suppose?"

"We don't have the time to stay here for the days it would take, reading them all over." He paused, reaching for one of the opened books on the table. "And if Ingram knows this library is here, we don't want to leave it for him."

"Load them up and haul them out, then," Lyla confirmed, wandering to the nearest shelf and running her finger along the length of the cracked and dusty spine. "Wouldn't mind holding onto them afterwards, either." She glanced towards Kaiun, lifting a brow. "You don't have some handy space-portal to carry these in, do you?" she asked mostly in jest, though a part of her wished it was entirely so.

Cid began to heft a number of books into his arms, looking the titles over as he went. "Just grabbin' anything that looks related."

"'Fraid not." He smirked. "But I'm hella strong, when I put my mind to it."

Vincent turned suddenly, fixing the other black-haired man with an even look. "The monsters in this basement."

He shrugged. "They were buggin me."

Lyla paused in the midst of helping a few books escape the pile. "Well. Makes things easier for us, doesn't it?"

"That's me. Lookin' out for the uncommon man."

The gunman pulled several books off the shelf without comment, handing them wordlessly to the bespectacled man. "You should call them." He said when he had turned his back again. "More hands."

"Mm," Lyla agreed, pulling her phone from her pocket and automatically dialing the number she knew best, cradling it between her ear and shoulder as she continued to stack books of pertinence and set them on the corner of the desk.

Cid paused long enough to take a long drag off of his cigarette, not bothering to be careful where he blew the smoke as he leaned over to hoist another stack. "Didn't think I'd become a librarian on this trip," he remarked.

Vincent looked at him over his shoulder, something oddly akin to dry mirth in his expression. "Or make a library out of the Shera?"

He snickered faintly in reply. "Least her namesake'll appreciate it," he conceded.

Lyla paused again, looking surprised. "Why do you have Reno's phone?" she asked the voice on the other end. "... look. Send Reno and Rude down here, we need a couple extra pairs of hands. ... don't say it like that. ... to carry BOOKS."

The ex-Turk offered the blond another impossibly even look before returning to his own stacking.

* * *

It took over 2 hours between their number to move the most of the library's contents to the deck of the Shera. And while that was impressive, considering the sheer number of stairs involved, it was still no more than the beginning of their investment.

Vincent stood in the doorway, frowning at the empty library as Cait Sith scrambled between his legs, the last tome in paw. He waited a moment. Closed his eyes.

Lyla was beginning to seriously reconsider her enjoyment of the written word as she hoisted her very last stack of books. Letting out a long exhale, she glanced to her right, noting that Vincent had gone very still, even as Cait Sith scampered off. "You alright?" she asked, red-faced from her previous trips to the ship.

Cid glanced at those onboard the Shera as he passed, making his way to the helm, where he leaned against the railing and cracked the first book he could reach. "So we're lookin' for possible locations of Sephiroth's DNA. Means lookin' for notes the old loony woulda stuck in here, right?"

"Soun's about right, don' i?" Cait Sith chirrped, settling himself by the blond's feet.

"Man," Reno complained aboard the ship, "No one said I was gonna have to read on this job."

Inside, the gunman turned to face his company. "...Yes." He said after a moment, brows knitting when he looked back. Reached into his cloak. "It just seems... strange." His voice was quiet as he moved across the room, removing his hand to lay it flat against the glass of the tanks.

She frowned, setting the books back on the worktable to slowly approach the other side of the room. She had only glanced at the tanks on their way in, too preoccupied to inspect them, but now she studied them curiously as she grew closer, hanging back just enough not to crowd the red-caped man. "Being back here?"

"No." He shook his head, the ice spell that leaked out from his hand sending small cracks through the glass. He watched them with a sort of morbid fascination, red eyes wide and strangely pained. "Leaving it again."

She watched as the hairline cracks began to spread, so tightly wound that they looked like thick cobwebs caught in ice. "So that he can't use it," she remarked. "... you're full of good plans." She paused, studying his expression and frowning, if only slightly. "How long has it been?"

"Four years." The edge of uncertainty was in his tone. He turned away as the glass shattered, holding out his cloak to shield the both of them from the splintering ice as it rained to the ground. "Forever. Sometimes... time is difficult to place."

"I'm sorry that you had to come back," she told him, stepping back even as he held his cloak out, throwing her arm up over her eyes as an added measure.

"The world is too small to run from our sins." He said simply, letting the fabric drop as he moved to the door. Waited politely for her to pass.

She noted the pause and passed him, stopping for a moment just outside the door. "What are you going to do with the rest of it?" she asked, looking back towards the equipment.

Vincent pulled Cerberus from it's holster, firing a single shot behind himself, into the wash of faintly green liquid.

"What I should have done a long time ago."

She watched with interest, edging another step back from the door as the flames began, licking their way up the remains of the tank and its twin, turning her back in order to quicken her pace towards the stairs that would take them up and away from the oncoming blaze. "You don't do anything half-assed, do you," she remarked, making a vain attempt to hide the smirk that had begun to tug at one corner of her mouth.

"What's the point?" his voice followed her in time to his feet. "I've already spent the effort to start."

"It's admirable," she told him without looking back, running one hand against the smooth stone of the wall as she began to make her way upwards. "And makes for a great many dramatic exits."

"Everyone has their strengths."

"It works for you," she informed him as they neared the top, moving a bit faster as the light from the second floor window came into view. "I hope he stops here and sees this." There was a bit of a sneer to her voice as she hit the landing and headed towards the hallway. "That would be a real kick in the ass."

"Hm." Vincent hmed, pushing the door open as they reached the landing.

But in the corner of his mouth was something almost like a smile.

* * *

Cid rubbed at the back of his neck as he continued to leaf through the pages of one of the more recent volumes. "Found somma his notes, can't make much sense of 'em though. Why don't these lab types ever write with normal letters like the rest of us?"

"Popped gasket." Cait Sith frowned sagely, leaning over his arm to look. "Oi. Did 'e write 'em right in the book? Th'blighter."

"Yeah," Cid confirmed with a frown. "Shera'd go nuts if she saw that."

"There are a lot of loose notes tucked into this one," Rufus offered as he continued to thumb through the volume in his lap. "Most dated around the time of the Meteor Crisis... he must have been in Nibelheim, overseeing the 'cast' he had hired. Not to mention all the Sephiroth clones that made their way through." He paused, tapping his index finger lightly against his chin. "No notes concerning where the DNA sample might be stored, yet."

Rude frowned, peering over the top of his glasses as he read, occasionally folding down the corner of a page for later reference.

Vincent was watching the landscape as it passed under the airship and out of sight. "Jenova's head." He said. "What became of it after the remnant incident."

Lyla, who had seated herself cross-legged against one of the railings with a stack of books beside her and one open in her lap, looking up at the mention of Jenova, tilting her head slightly, curious.

Rufus appeared to focus on nothing in particular for a moment, thoughtful as his brow creased, blonde eyebrows knit together. "... Kadaj absorbed it," he began, "But when he died, it may have been left behind. ... he died atop Shinra headquarters."

"So there's a possibility of her residue in Midgar." He turned away from the railing, frowning. "And as the president, you don't have access to any list of Hojo's work sites that Ingram might not have?"

"It might take some creative computer work," Rufus admitted. "No doubt anything Hojo didn't want me to find, he locked up tight. But I would have a better place to start than Ingram, I have greater access to begin with. In the end it came out that Hojo had far more secrets than most of us realized, but if we can break into his files, we may be able to find a list of his work sites, yes."

"Oh," Lyla interjected, snapping her head upwards again. "If you don't mind, I could try? I found the files that took us to the previous facilities," she went on, though her words took on an awkward, almost embarrassed tone for a moment. "If I had better access to start with, I could probably break into more of his private files."

"Well way tae go, lassie!" Cait Sith jumped, giving a small, feline cheer. "Tha'll give us th'jump on ol'melty mouth for certain!"

Lyla blinked. "... melty-mouth. Thank you for the emotional scarring. ... Mr. Shinra, if you wouldn't mind giving me your information, I can get started right away."


	13. Chapter 13

The ruins, as it turned out, were no place for a ship the size of a pinwheel to land, let alone a beast like the Shera. The end result was that Cid had to stay on the ship, manning the wheel to keep her from drifting while the rest parachuted into the rubble that had once been the proud Shinra building.

Which, more or less, excluded Rufus from the excursion, as well. That left a pair of Turks, a pair of Shinra pseudo-employees, and Vincent.

Reno was the first to land, doing so far more gracefully than those who knew him might expect. He shrugged his way out of his parachute harness as he carefully picked his way to a clear spot in the rubble, tossing the apparatus aside so that it draped itself over a broken chunk of flooring that jutted upwards. The floor beneath him was heavily slanted, unsteady, but he managed to keep himself from sliding downwards by bracing his foot against a large piece of unidentifiable debris. Looking up, he motioned for the rest to follow.

Lyla landed nearby, skidding slightly until she found a foothold for herself, ducking out of her own parachute pack and similarly tossing it aside. Frowning, she surveyed the area they had landed in. It wasn't wholly recognizable, but an oversized desk split into three parts and somehow welded to the floor beneath it tipped her off. "Rufus' office. Lovely. I'm sure it would break his heart to see it."

Vincent touched down somewhere above them, crouching on an overhanging metal rod that was twisted half way beyond recognition. He peered down across the mess as he unhooked his parachute, letting it flutter another story down before catching on a broken window.

Over his shoulder, Cait Sith stared after it.

"Oi... what a wreck." He said morosely. "Dinnae think I'd ever miss this place."

Rude landed with a solid thud some thirty seconds later, rising to his feet and dusting his jacket off. Behind him, the parachute he had detached a few feet in the air caught a stiff wind and sailed leftward until it vanished behind another ruined spire.

Reno watched his partner land and thumped one fist against his chest twice in rapid succession. That taken care of, he began to scale the nearest mountain of debris, perching near it's peak and looking down over the edge. "Long drop to the lab," he surmised, "The floor beneath us is pretty wasted, too, but the lab and storage look like they just had a bunch of shit dropped into them."

Lyla pushed off against what she thought had once been part of a wall, freeing her foot from where it had been stuck to climb the same pile Reno had, though not nearly as quickly. Graceful enough, she supposed, but Reno was, by her own admission, fast like a freak. "... we need to get down there," she said with certainty as she peered over the edge.

"Is this really the time for your science fetish?" Reno asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

She didn't even spare a moment to glare at him, only closed her eyes and shook her head, just once. "... no. Something is down there. ... I feel something. It's calling us down there. It wants us there."

"Jes a suggestion lassie," Cait Sith offered, leaning over conspiratorially as Vincent paused beside them. "But don' ye think tha' might be th' bes' reason ye ever heard of NAE ta?"

Rude scowled up at the debris-pile the others were standing on, cracking his knuckles before making the first attempt to scale it.

And landing on his ass.

Reno instinctively turned to offer his partner his hand. "C'mon buddy, you can do this."

Lyla frowned in response, staring straight downward, leaning over the edge inch by inch, hands braced against the broken wall that stood between their number and the drop to the lab. "I'm going," she said in a voice that was somehow not her own, falling forward over the edge before Reno could turn back and interrupt.

"Lyla!" Vincent lunged after her, the gesture accompanying Cait Sith's rather high pitched yelp as he plunged into freefall.

Rude grunted, using Reno's hand for leverage in time to see the suicide leap. He frowned at Reno.

Reno stared back at him blankly. If he was panicked, it didn't show, save for the fact that his face was noticeably whiter than it had been moments before. "Not good," he murmured, leaning to peer over the edge.

Beneath them she had pulled into herself midair, pushing forward enough to right herself as one leg kicked out before the other. Her arms spread and she fell faster, a single line instead of a tangle of limbs, landing in a deep crouch two floors below, one hand resting against the floor between her knees, balancing. As though it had taken no effort at all, she slowly drew herself up to her full height, and began to walk forward.

"Lyla." The gunman said again, landing behind her a moment later, reaching out to take her arm. "Wait."

"It's here," she said plainly, hesitating for a moment as he reached out, moving forward again before he could grab hold of her. Her mouth had become a thin line, eyes fixed forward, occasionally roaming upwards or to either side as she continued to advance. "Jenova, and something else."

"Whatever it is, don't go running blindly to it. You're putting yourself at risk."

"Aye!" Cait Sith agreed, ducking down by Vincent's shoulder. "And th'rest o'us."

"It's calling." It was unclear whether their words had reached her or not; perhaps to their relief, she slowed to a stop, pausing in the center of what had once been Shinra headquarters' central laboratory. She looked upwards once more, then to the perimiter, turning slowly as if studying each expanse of the room. Nearby, a number of shattered tanks still stood, glowing faintly. "... I can't tell which direction. Here, somewhere."

"Lyla." Vincent said again, his tone flat but firm. "Get ahold of yourself. This isn't you."

Truth be told, the faintest trace of awareness pricked at him like a featherpoint. The knowledge that someone ... something, shared blood with him. Shared dark design. Jenova's signature, reaching out. But it held no sway over him. It never had. He wondered if that robbed him of some empathy, in this particular light.

A bodily thud sounded behind them, the faint squeak of boots against the ruined tile, the metallic sound of a blade being pulled from its scabbard. "You have come for Jenova," a woman's voice accused, coolly and without trace of an accent. Young, younger than any of those present. "You won't make more of us."

"I think we foun'yer friend, lassie!" Cait Sith cried, turning to stare at the newcomer the best he could.

Vincent looked over his shoulder for a beat before returning to the scientist in front of him. "Lyla." He said again, more sharply.

"What?" Lyla directed her attention to him, confused, an odd look passing over her face as she took in their surroundings for what seemed to be the first time. "... the lab, how did we-? Did I jump?"

The newcomer advanced on the cat, sword held loosely in one hand, tall, wiry form outlined by black leather that showed each muscle and lack of curve. Her hair was short, brushing against her shoulders as she moved, and tell-tale silver, eyes impossibly green. "No more."

Vincent turned when her eyes found him, fingers closing around Cerberus as he spoke. "We are here for Jenova." he agreed, voice rasping at the edges. "But not for the reasons you think."

"They ne'er listen, Vin." Cait Sith ducked behind his shoulder. "Nae t'asingle word!"

"We don't have to fight." He warned the feminine Sephiroth. "But we will, if you make me."

The woman had no reply, only paused to eye the caped man up and down, appraising him. Her gaze shifted and she froze, her grip going lax, sword falling from her hand and clattering loudly against the floor, skittering away and uncomfortably close to Cait Sith even as she launched herself forward, running towards the female figure at the back of their group.

The gunman frowned, brows knitting as he took a step out of the way.

"Vin! Whattaye -doin'-?" Cait Sith demanded, drawing a wince from proximity.

Lyla yelped as they collided, going very still as she looked down to see the larger woman on her knees, arms around her waist, face buried uncomfortably in her abdomen. "Mother, you came," she murmured against the brunette's midsection, causing Lyla to look to Vincent, panicked, hands frozen in midair.

"Help?"

"...Mother?" Cait Sith blinked, taking the hand up from Vincent.

"She dropped her sword." Vincent noted evenly, as though this explained everything.

"Ye think she was th'one callin' the lassie?"

"Mn."

The silver-haired girl rocked back onto her feet, arms still draped around Lyla's middle, letting out a slow exhale that wavered slightly, along with her voice. "Jenova won't shut up, she keeps talking, brother left her here and she keeps talking, she wants him back..." She paused, looking upwards. "No, she wants Father back... he's her favorite. We have to find him first! He's ours, not hers!"

The two former AVALANCHE members exchanged a glance. And then, as one, turned it on Lyla.

"So it's here."

"Sephiroth."

"And he's alive." Vincent looked up at the broken down ceiling. "Or he will be. Soon."

Lyla looked between the both of them, wide-eyed, pale. "What."

The silver-haired girl released her hold and snapped up to her full height, claiming her sword from the ground, sliding it back into its scabbard effortlessly. "If we find him first, he can be ours. -He- is trying to find father, he wants to make him the same as Jenova, wants them together again... if we find him first, we can have him back, we don't -need- her."

The brunette stared. "I... too many pronouns. ... Ingram, do you mean Ingram?"

"The doctor," the other woman hissed.

"... we want to find Sephiroth before he does, too. Or what remains of him."

Footsteps sounded from the opposite side of the lab, rapidly approaching as Reno hurtled himself forward, scuffed and dirty from climbing downwards through all the debris. "Alright you guys, no fair, Rude and I can't- what the fuck?"

There was a thud somewhere in the darkness. Moments later Rude trotted after, dusting the debris from his jacket, eyes straight ahead. But he stopped when they fell on the girl.

"Aye, laddie. Been won'drin' that meself." The cat said, leaping down and skittering across the wide floor to scale Reno.

Vincent watched him evenly, and, when the robot was properly situated, was rewarded for his long, serene look by a brandished finger.

"Ne'er again, Vin." He said firmly. "Ne'er again."

"Father is at the Knowlespole." The silver-haired girl paused to give the newest arrivals a glance before turning her attention back to Lyla, gaze slowly panning towards Vincent after a moment. "He is in pieces, pulling himself together. Building a new body inside a cocoon. Jenova whispered it to me. Over and over. ... you are like us," she observed, tilting a head towards the caped man.

Vincent nodded, red eyes watching her carefully. "In a way." he said.

"Taller lassie called 'er mum." Cait Sith whispered to Reno.

Reno raised a brow as he looked down at Reeve's pet. "Ew," he said plainly.

The girl nodded faintly, accepting his answer before turning on her heel to gesture towards one of the broken tanks. "I hid her there. I've been watching. ... she can't be near Father, she shouldn't be. ... your Ingram can't find her either. Needs a safe place." She frowned. "I tried destroying her."

"Not as easy as we'd like, I know," Lyla said softly, edging to her right, just enough to position herself slightly behind Vincent, hoping it would save her midsection from being attacked again.

"Actually." The voice came from above them, roughly a floor. The figure crouched on the overhang, peering down at them from a corner miserably scant in light. "From where I'm standing, you might not be able to destroy her at all." The shadow moved, revealing the glint of glass and metal. "We're calling it a she, right?"

"Spaceman's back," Reno observed, directing his gaze upwards.

"Can't help it." He shrugged, leaping down without much sign of fear or sting. Landing in a crouch at their edge. "You guys just seem to be where all the really fun action keeps happening."

The woman in black turned her gaze upwards as well, frowning. "You are something wicked."

"Yes I am." He agreed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Tell us something we don't know, Kaiun," Lyla voiced from somewhere behind Vincent, bracing her hands against her hips. "Jenova's managed to weather the last four years with people constantly trying to destroy her, not to mention the thousands of years she survived before that. We know what we can't do. Now we need to know what we can, to keep her separate from Sephiroth but safe from Ingram as well."

"He wants Prometheus," Reno pointed out. "We gotta prioritize."

He shrugged. "Okay, okay. If that's what you want. How about this, then? I can't seem to destroy her. And that's kind of freaky considering that's my bag." The dark man pushed his glasses up. "Or that your dirt marble here is-" He paused, waving a hand. "Well. One thing at a time."

"We have a location." Vincent frowned. "The Knowlespole."

"The whoseywhatsit?" Reno demanded, raising his other brow to match the first.

"The northern crater," Lyla supplied, peering around the caped man to look the silver-haired girl over again. "... do you have a name?"

She looked back, confused, nodding after a brief pause. "Kadaj said he heard the doctor call me Rei."

Rude frowned at his partner.

Vincent turned, frowning into the darkness from which the Turks had come. "Can you make your way back up?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's no big deal," Reno told him with a dismissive wave. "... what am I saying? Pain in the ASS. But doable."

The larger of the pair frowned a little more deeply, but he didn't volunteer any complaint.

"We should go, then."

"Do we take her with us?" Lyla asked, dropping the volume of her voice to direct the question solely at Vincent. "... Jenova. I don't think we've much of a choice with the other. ... but we have to do something with it. Unless you think leaving it here is- well, maybe he won't check here again? ... not final enough."

The gunman turned, eying the head's long resting place warily. At length he nodded, crossing the room in a few, long-legged strides to stand before the broken tube. With a frown he bent, pulling the head from the pool of green goo with a faint drip.

She winced even as she followed, stopping herself a few paces in. Whether it had been Jenova or Rei that had reached her from three floors away, she wasn't sure she should get much closer to test the theory. Even as she stopped short, their newest addition approached her, taking Lyla's hand in hers, giving a smile that was more blank and forced than anything else, never daring to reach her piercing eyes.

"You'll hurt less when we're together, Mother. The ache will leave you."

Lyla looked to her, alarmed, wanting to pull away and reclaim her arm, but too unsure of what the consequences might be. "... I- how did you- no, I'm just sick, I-"

"We all feel it," Rei reasoned, her words simple, cold. "These past months. We hurt because she hurts."

"She." Vincent said, inviting some better clarification.

Rei turned her sharp gaze to the gunman. "Jenova," she said flatly. "The one my brothers call their mother. They never could resist her calling like I do."

"You knew them well." He never turned, eyes fixed on the lolling head and her empty, hanging smile. "How."

"They are- were pieces of Father. They came to this place to seek Jenova and found me here. We spoke, then and after, but they left me behind." She frowned for the first time, watching the head in Vincent's grasp with interest. "Our gifts allowed us to speak without words."

"Nightmares." The word came from Vincent quietly, almost as though it had escaped. Too soft for anything meant to hear. He raised his head, taking his gaze at last from the one-eyed one boring into his throat.

He didn't ask if she knew what had become of them. He didn't voice concern for a child in this wasteland alone. If he had some concern for her attachment to Lyla, he left it unspoken. Instead he searched the darkness.

"You're still here." He said.

And for a beat, nothing answered.

"C'mon," Reno muttered, hoisting Cait Sith onto his shoulders and beckoning for Rude to follow as he began to retreat. "This is gonna take awhile. ... kind of getting too freaky in here for me, never wanted to see Jenova's friggin' head again if I could help it."

His companion nodded, grunting softly in agreement. He wasn't looking forward to the scale back up. At all.

"Kaiun?" Lyla echoed, causing Rei to direct her attention upwards.

"Yeah." Kaiun's voice echoed in the laboratory's shell after the footsteps faded. It had the air of one pulled from another thought entirely. He turned, scant light catching his face again. "I'm here, Scarecrow."

Vincent watched him without a word. The tall man shifted after a beat, coming closer.

"What?" He said, though his posture said he already knew.

Lyla looked on from where she stood, going still as she watched the head in Vincent's hands rather than his movement, forcing herself to direct her gaze to Kaiun a moment later. No. Don't invite trouble.

"...You want me to take it." There was a note of surprise in the foreigner's voice. He eyed Vincent almost suspiciously.

"There's not time to find a sterile case." The gunman said. "You can contain it, can't you. You're not like us."

"Well. I'm not like them." He snorted, taking the severed head in both of his hands. "Yeah, okay. I'll hold onto her for ya, I guess."

Vincent frowned, but made no comment.

"The safest place, for now, isn't it," Lyla remarked, glancing to her left as she felt Rei's grip on her wrist begin to ease.

"For you, maybe." He muttered, looking down at the head in his hands. "Tch. Don't think this means anything." Kaiun told it, sighing as he closed his strange, purplish eyes. "Don't wanna go steady or nothin'."

A ripple seemed to coat the room, his hands blackening from the fingertips downward as they had that first meeting outside of Edge. Their form softened, surrounding what they held like a coat of living tar, condensing down as they pressed together. Vanishing with a shudder that seemed to catch in the air.

Kaiun pulled a face, shaking the black out of his hands. "Ew." He said, poking out his tongue. "Tastes like whore."

Lyla grimaced. "Charming."

Rei blinked. "Whore?" she echoed.

Kaiun favored her with a mildly disbelieving look before pushing his glasses up again. "That's one I'll let you ask your mum."

Vincent wiped his hand against his pant leg absently, glancing up at the sky again. "Later." He said. And unsurprisingly, that was all.

Rei looked to Lyla expectantly, causing the latter to glare at Kaiun before carefully reclaiming her hand. "I wish people would stop calling me that."


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't until Rei had decided to sequester herself below deck that Lyla felt truly comfortably retreating to her own cabin. Even now, she half-expected their newest recruit to pop up beside her, stating that she had changed her mind and asking her what a whore was and going on about locating 'Father' and other various things that made Lyla feel absolutely ill. The peace and quiet she had gone to her cabin to find seemed unattainable. She didn't want to rest or brood or give herself too much time to think. She wanted to scream.

"VINCENT," she accused sharply as she approached him from behind, marching down the length of the corridor.

The tall man turned, blinking at her once as though this were a perfectly normal and reasonable reaction to having one's name shrieked from what really ought to have been nowhere.

"Yes?" He said at length.

"I can't sleep. I can't sit still. I can't shut off all this screaming in my head. I'm about to have a complete and utter nervous breakdown," she listed off one after the other, jaw set and hands clenched at her sides, "I did something back at the Shinra building that I don't even -remember- and I can't trust myself, I'm scared and I want to feel sorry for myself, and I thought that of all people you might be sort of okay with that, so I'm here now, you fixed me before, do it again," she instructed, the calm, organized manner of the Lyla he had met days before having slipped away entirely.

Vincent blinked at her once, for a full beat seeming half way at a loss. Then he gestured ahead of himself, towards the far door that lead to the Shera's outside deck. She stared at him for a moment in disbelief; whether it was at his lack of response or her own utter lack of decorum, she didn't say. Instead, she simply turned around and, clapping a hand over her mouth, walked through the far door as directed.

He followed her in pace, taking the lead as they reached to outside and leading her around the back of the ship. The wind was subdued there, the ground passing under their feet at hundreds of miles an hour.

Vincent sat, extending a hand to invite her to join him.

She paused, hesitant to join him at first despite her seeking him out. Finally she took a seat next to him, letting her own hands rest between her knees as she slumped forward. "I apologize for screeching at you."

"I've had worse." He assured her.

"It's too much at once," she offered by way of an explanation, frowning. "The lab by Midgar, now this business with Rei, and... everything. The more I hear, the harder it is to stay calm and logical. ... things that never made sense before, do, and I wish they didn't."

"So scream." Vincent suggested, watching the assistant from the space between his cloak and hair. "Yell and cry. You deserve that much, don't you think? A chance to be angry. ...A chance to grieve."

She turned her head to look at him from beneath a fall of hair, though the wind caused it to obscure her face even before she turned it downwards again, burying it in her hands and taking in a deep breath, going still for just a moment, until her shoulders began to shake.

"Fuck," she growled through tears, "FUCK. I could have been prepared, he could have SAID something. All these years he let me believe I was fucking crazy. The voices and all of the nightmares, no doctor could ever make them go away, so I fucking smiled and kept pretending I was alright because I didn't know how to fix it. And he let me think I was crazy instead of telling me what was really happening. He KNEW."

The dark man waited quietly, something sad and softer than apathy on his fine features. He didn't tell her that her father had likely hoped the voices could be cured, that no inkling was probably the only way to be even halfway sure in the face of a horror like Jenova. He didn't inject logic into her pain, or try to reach out and comfort her.

He just waited.

And when she fell silent again, he said, softly, "You're right."

"I feel so, and yet… I don't know what else I could expect from him," she said bitterly, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm angry, and hurt that he let me go on like that for so long. ... but how would you tell someone...?"

"Maybe there is no good way."

She made a faint growling sound into her hands, followed by a heavy sigh. "I don't know why you make me feel better."

"Neither do I," he admitted.

She was frowning when she sat upright again, raking her fingers through hair to push it back from her face, eyes distinctly more red than they had been. "Maybe because you don't sugarcoat things. I can accept that sometimes the situation is just awful. ... it just feels nice, that someone else agrees. Like 'maybe there is no good way,' or just acknowledging that it's alright to be pissed off because it's horrible. You didn't tell me 'it's not so bad.' ... appreciated."

"It is bad." He said reasonably, turning his eyes away. Perhaps out of politeness, or something like it. Vincent was quiet for a moment while he watched the hills disappear behind them. "It's also not the end of you. Maybe, it would be the end of some of us. But not you. And you know that, already."

"I know," she admitted, glancing towards him only to see that he had looked away. "... maybe that's the scariest part. I have to learn how to deal with it. I don't know where to begin."

Vincent looked back after a beat, taking her in before he spoke. "I can't help you." He said at last. "But you aren't alone. We're in this together now." The sun crept higher across the sky, catching the air at a strange angle. Making the world flash as it sped by. "You have all the time you need."

She watched him for a moment, allowing those words to sink in as the sky changed color, grew brighter as they sped north. "Oh," she said finally. "... you're good."

"It's surprising me, too," he said dryly.

"You'd think you'd be out of practice," she told him, lightly touching the back of his gloved hand. "... oh. Again with the things not to say out loud."

He made a noise that moved his shoulders. Something almost like a chuckle. "I've always been bad at it."

"Not so terrible now. Or maybe it's just situational," she thought aloud, offering a weary smirk in reply. "Hey. That was almost a laugh."

Vincent caught her eye from the corner of his own. "Don't tell."

"Our secret," she promised him, discreetly retracting her hand as though she had never offered it in the first place. "If you won't tell that I snapped for a few minutes there."

"Didn't hear a thing."

"Such a gentleman."

He nodded, turning his eyes back on the scenery below. "Well. That's one way to put it." The gunman's gaze was serene and far away. "Or... I could have been deafened by the first scream."

She laughed, averting her own gaze to look in the opposite direction. "Yes. Or that. If anyone asks, that's our story?"

"That sounds like a plan."

"We should probably get back," she told him, if a bit grudgingly. "Or at least inside. It's going to get colder up here soon. ... not really dressed for it."

"Are you ready?"

"I don't think I have any choice," she admitted, frowning. "... it could have been worse. What happened at headquarters could have been so much worse, and I- or did you just mean... to go in out of the cold."

"Both." He told her, leaning back enough to fix her with his even, red gaze.

"Oh," she said flatly. "To be honest, not quite yet."

Vincent thought about that for a moment, reaching up to finger the clasps of his cowl with his human hand.

The cloth was thick as it draped over her shoulders, but far from coarse. The gunman never looked away from the railings and what lie below them, as though the gesture hadn't happened at all.

It wasn't anything near what she had expected. Another minute or two of talking or making half-hearted jokes about uncharacteristic behavior, maybe. She took the cloak in both hands to pull it closed around her front, finding it large enough to do so with ease. "Thank you," she said softly, leaning against the railing to look up at him. It was the first time she had seen him go without his cowl; his frame was painfully thin, something the cloak normally hid. "This is the first time I've actually seen your face."

Vincent blinked before he looked over, something almost like surprise pulling at his features. They were elegant, somehow. Long and slim like the rest of him, though his frame had long since been eaten away by the gaunt.

"Should I have kept it on?" An edge of puzzled sincerity seeped into the short sentence, unbalancing it.

"What? No, you're fine," she assured him, confused by his own befuddlement. "It's just new. ... I thought you might have kept it hidden because you were scarred."

The gunman blinked at her again, raising a hand experimentally to touch the bridge of his nose and lips, as if searching for the tell tale raise of scar tissue.

"Oh!" She reached out to lay a hand against his forearm, an attempt to be reassuring. "No. You don't have any."

"Ah." He let his hand lower, a flicker of something besides steadiness darting over his face. "It's... been some time since I've looked."

"I guessed that... with the mild panic and all." She managed half a smile, pulling the cloak a little tighter to ward off the coming cold. "There's nothing wrong with your face. It's nice."

"I wasn't panicked." He muttered.

"Mildly concerned?" she offered.

Vincent looked down for a moment, as if searching for his dignity. "Mn."

"Another incident to file under the 'don't tell,' category, is it?"

"Mn."

"Your vocabulary is astounding."

"At least I don't communicate primarily through meaningful looks."

"To be fair, Reno at least seems able to translate them," she supplied.

"That could be the worst of it."

"Let's give Rude some credit. He also communicates with his fists."

"Point."

She glanced upwards again. "So why do you wear the cowl, anyway?"

He was quiet for a moment, considering his answer. "At first... because they were... the clothes I had. Anything, to feel less naked."

"And now? ... just felt no need to change?"

"No." He frowned, wind catching his hair across as it changed. "No... Now because... my face doesn't matter. Because I'm not a man, anymore."

"You are," she corrected him. "You told me I was still a human being, so I get to tell you the same."

Vincent paused then, shifting just enough to look at her, square on. "No." he said quietly, and something in the monotony was sad. "It's not quite the same."

"Why can't it be?" she asked, a genuine question, though her voice had also adopted a certain sort of sadness.

"I was created." he said, hesitating a heartbeat. "From the bones and the blood... of a ruined, sinful man. I had my chance, it was never taken away."

"Couldn't it just be," she began evenly, worrying at her lower lip, "that you're just a different sort of man now? Or on your way to becoming one. Just because he tried to make you a monster, doesn't mean you have to be... you don't act like one. ... very much a person."

The gunman opened his mouth, but something caught there. Something that pulled his eyes to something no one else could see. He shifted again, turning them away. "I'm not a monster." He agreed. "Not a man. Not ... anything at all. Hojo didn't take anything from me I had the power to protect."

"Can't you take it back? Maybe not what he took physically, or changed... but the rest. Over time. ... couldn't that be yours again?"

Vincent closed his eyes. "There are lives... I could have saved. Things I could have changed." He admitted hoarsely. "My sins. My failures... my foolishness. I can never take back what I've done. And this..." He raised his clawed hand half heartedly. "This thing I've become. ...It's no less than I deserve."

"No," Lyla corrected him, shifting to avert her eyes, focusing on the scenery moving past, below. "No one deserves to be so sad. I'm not saying you don't have the right to be. ... you do. You have the right to hurt, and be angry, and miserable. But you don't deserve it."

He smiled faintly. "Turning my own advice on me."

"It seemed fitting. Also applicable," she advised.

"I don't know how long this body will last." He said after awhile. "Maybe a week. Maybe an eternity. Until then, I'll do what I can... to atone. Maybe that way, I will be able to rest in peace."

She studied him then, for a series of moments that seemed to last an eternity, adjusting the overlarge cloak to shield herself from the cold that was growing steadily more noticeable. "I think," she said finally, "You might be the saddest thing I've ever seen."

He cocked his head, looking at her again. "That seems like a high bar."

"Would you be more satisfied with 'most heartbreaking'?"

"A waste." He suggested softly.

"Not true," she half-scolded. "If you weren't here, I'd have gone completely out of my mind... as opposed to only half."

He offered her a faint smile. "I don't know about that."

"Actually," she reasoned stubbornly, "I'd probably be dead. You did a good job keeping Ingram off of me back in Edge."

"I wasn't the only one willing to protect you."

"Probably the only one who could without getting killed in the process," she pointed out firmly.

The dark man paused, glancing over at her again. "You have an answer for everything." He observed.

"Proving a point is in my line of work, you realize," she warned him. "Once I present a statement, I have to be prepared to defend it. Viciously, if need be."

Vincent considered that, eyes once again on the speeding landscape below. "Well." He said at last. "If I've helped you, then that's one step closer, to seeing if there's redemption for me."

"You're the only one who can answer that, aren't you," she remarked, following his gaze downwards, watching the snow-capped trees and plains fly past beneath them, an observation more than a question. "Do you think you'll ever let yourself be satisfied? That whatever you've done has been enough?"

"I don't know." He said honestly, a strange look pulling at his features. "But... I'm willing to work. To see."

"You have to forgive yourself someday," she told him, looking decidedly away. "I hope that you do."

Vincent closed his eyes, something uncomfortably like serenity in his angled face. "Yes." He said after awhile. "So do I." And in the edges of his voice was something like surprise.

She looked upward again, tucking her hair behind her ear to keep the wind from whipping it against her face. "I know we're more or less strangers," she admitted, "I've just never seen anyone so... sad. I would hate to think anyone could continue feeling that forever."

"It wasn't my intention to cause you distress."

"Oh... I don't mean it like that. I-" She paused, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth, eyes shifting downward. "I suppose I don't know what I meant. ... sometimes I just talk."

"I don't mind." Vincent rasped without turning to look at her again.

"Even when it all comes out awkward and pitying and slightly offensive?"

"I'm not exactly a gifted conversationalist, myself."

She smiled faintly, turning to look out over the railing once again. "You do alright."

"So do you."

"Mn," she acknowledged, curling her fingers over the rail, leaning against it. "... I'm glad you're here. Please don't call yourself a waste again, Vincent."

He leaned back, his expression unsure of how to take her. But then he nodded, deliberate and slow. If that was what Lyla wanted, that was fine.

"Here." She reached up to carefully unclasp his cowl from around her neck, lifting the cloak from her shoulders and offering it with one hand. "I think I will go back inside now."

He took it in the clawed one, careful not to brush the metal fingers against her own. Pulling it over his shoulders in a single, fluid motion.

She folded her arms to ward off the chill wind that still stood between her and the door, offering him a thin, tired smile before turning her back to start across the deck. "And thank you, again."

He nodded, fixing the clasps in place. "Don't mention it."


	15. Chapter 15

It did not occur to Rei to wait for the others once Cid had anchored the ship at the crater. She had been the first to leave the Shera, climbing the rope ladder effortlessly only to drop to the ground and gracefully make her way down to the ledge that would take them further in, a steep decline as far as she should see. She perched at the first ledge that came up, glancing back to see who else had been quick to alight from the ship.

Cid was the first that she saw, having left Rufus in charge of the ship while he took a turn at field work, his well-cared for spear in one hand. He twirled it idly as he sauntered his way down the first incline, pausing to peer over the edge into the depths of the crater. "Not gonna lie. No less creepy than it was back then."

Vincent landed behind him with barely a sound to his metal boots, peering emotionlessly down the far, misty expanse of the crater. The wind whipped up to greet them, digging icy claws into the corners of the gunman's cloak. The aviator's t-shirt. It howled like a warning hound, creeping against their skin with chilled fingertips, scratching whatever it could reach.

But there was a warmth beneath. A strange tingling sensation that lingered like the kiss of a delivered spell, or the touch of a departing lover.

Come closer.

Come deeper.

Come to the sound of my voice.

Lyla touched the ground cautiously behind him, slow to ease her grip on the ladder, releasing it only when she felt the sharp tug from above, caused by Reno beginning his descent. She turned and carefully made her way along the narrow ledge, zipping up the front of her jacket to ward off the chill. A glance into the softly pulsing warmth of the crater caused her to frown.

"He really is here," she remarked softly, more to herself than anything, staff in hand. "I feel his heartbeat."

Vincent glanced at her curiously. And from above her, Cait Sith's voice filtered down.

"Then th'big ol'baddie's alive, is 'e?" The cat frowned. "Cannae say tha's a nice thought. Nae after the one-two Cloud gave 'im."

"Alive," Lyla confirmed, though a note of surprise rose in her voice. "... asleep? He's healing. It's taken him a long time to..." She trailed off and shook her head slightly, causing her hair to fall forward and obscure her face. She left it there as they advanced, Reno reaching to hoist Cait Sith onto his shoulders as they brought up the rear. "I don't know how I know."

"We all hear each other," was the calm reply from the head of the line. Rei leapt effortlessly from the first ledge to the next, leaving Cid to follow, though it took him a moment more to judge the distance and wind up for the jump. "Perhaps you are two halves. Tied together. Even if you don't know."

Rude grimaced as he tugged the ladder behind them, hooking the loose end against the ship as he followed.

"Wouldn' ye know if ye was missin' a half?" Cait Sith frowned, clinging to the Turk as he made the leap.

"Maybe not if you were kept apart," Rei reasoned without looking back.

Lyla moved her staff from one hand to the other, taking her turn with jumping the gap between ledges and finding it far less difficult than she imagined it might be. She frowned slightly as she landed, pausing a moment before continuing after those in front of her. "I wish," she said under her breath, "She didn't talk like that."

"Like what?"

Lyla tensed. "Super-hearing, too?"

"People are more than halves." Vincent's voice came from several steps below them. The alternate path he had taken was not readily apparent, but there he was, far to their right, the wind pulling at the far falls of his hair. "No matter how we are created, or altered. Maybe it's not been long enough for either of you to know that, just yet."

"Listen to you, Vin, gettin' all philosophical again," Cid commented from the ledge above, grunting as he used his spear to vault himself across another pair of gaps. "You listen t'him, little miss. He's had a lotta years to sort this kinda thing out, y'know."

Rei looked to him as they broke even, confused. "I have always been treated as a piece of a whole. I don't understand."

"Why doesn't that surprise me." The dark man glanced back at her. "There's no good way to explain, Rei. Life is something that must be experienced to be understood."

The silver-haired girl looked towards him, puzzled. She stepped off the next ledge she approached and allowed herself to drop through, catching herself midair and moving to catch up with the man in the red cape, hovering alongside him for several beats as he moved before helping herself to a place behind him on the incline, which was beginning to wind downwards more sharply. "You are not surprised," she observed, half-questioning.

At the rear, Reno looked up at Cait Sith, a hand on the robot's leg to steady him as they made their way along the series of jumps and ledges, glancing over his shoulder at Rude a moment later. "I'm not the only one this is all getting a little too weird for, am I?" he asked, oddly earnest.

Ahead of him, Lyla shook her head as she landed from another jump beside Cid, who had been holding a hand out to help her. She was surprised to see that she didn't need it. "No," she admitted, glancing back. "But I think it's only going to be come moreso as we go on."

"Jenova." Rude said darkly.

"Aye," Cait Sith agreed, returning Reno's look with momentarily opened eyes. "Wherever she gets involved, things ge'outta hand before we know what hit us."

Up front, Vincent shook his head, Taking his time with the trek down the mountain side into its heart. "That surprises you." He noted, stealing another glance at her as he jumped. Inviting some small explanation.

"You speak as if you know the men who created us," Rei said simply, looking the caped man over, studying him. "... there is a lot that surprises me," she admitted a moment later. "I know little outside the lab and my brothers. Only what I've seen from the building while protecting Jenova."

The gunman nodded his understanding, taking another leap before he spoke again. "It will come." He said. "You're in good company for learning." And then, as he hit the flat of a lower ledge. "And I did."

Rei looked back towards the rest of their company, most just starting to catch up to the pair that had taken their own respective shortcuts ahead. "Mother is learning, too. Are you like us?" She swiveled her attention back to the dark man just in time to miss Lyla failing to repress a shudder at the name she had been assigned. "You feel the same, but there is something else there. I can't name it."

"I am." He agreed, digging his sharp, metal nails into the ledge in order to lower himself to the next, slightly removed beneath. "And I'm not. You... Sephiroth, and Lyla. You were created. I was made."

"I don't understand," came the blank response, accompanied by a similarly blank look. She glanced to her right as Cid joined then from behind, craning his neck to look past the pair and down into the center of the crater. They were nearing the lower reaches of the northern cave now. There were fewer monsters than he remembered. A few shadows scampering away in the darkness below, but nothing aggressive. He frowned, wondering if something had scared them off.

"A long story, miss. One I can take th'liberties of tellin' you later, when we're done here, alright?"

Vincent said nothing, only unhooked his grip, dropping a few hundred feet with apparent ease.

Cait Sith offered Reno a stricken look. "Yer nae gonna be doin' tha', are ye, laddie?"

Reno looked up at the cat, wide-eyed. "Pretty much couldn't without dying, my friend. So, no. That's a big no."

Cid snorted, stopping to look over the edge. "You're such a damn showoff!" he shouted, his voice echoing just a few times on the way down. Lyla smirked behind him, joining him at the precipice.

"I'm sure if you jumped, he would catch you," she offered.

Rei followed Vincent's example without looking back, dropping out of sight before anyone had a chance to tell her otherwise.

Rude frowned particularly deeply. "...Great." He said flatly.

"An' whae'bout the res'o us, Vin!" Cait Sith shouted after him.

Reno snorted. "Getting left behind again, just because we don't have super-powers. Way to support equality, you guys."

"Maybe Reeve oughtae invest in some rocket boots." the cat observed.

The brunette on the landing ahead of them looked back, drawing in a sharp breath as she did so. "If we jump, are you three going to whine like babies about it?"

"Yes, because even if the adventures are weird and creepy, we're missing all of it," Reno told her pointedly, stopping on the opposite side of the gap. "And what 'we,' and also, are you insane? ... scratch that, clearly yes."

Lyla frowned even as she looked back over the edge. "Considering the turn of events at the Shinra building, I'm pretty sure I'll live. And Cid seems to be a jumper."

"Dragoon," Cid mumbled, "If y'wanna be technical, girl."

Below, concealed in the thick arms of faintly green fog, Vincent turned roving eyes across the flats and peaks surrounding them.

Crystals. Hundreds upon hundreds, piled and sporadic. Jutting from the jagged corners and reaching up from ragged ground. Materia. Condensed and oddly speckled, glowing softly beneath the coat of mist.

"He's here, somewhere," Rei's voice said from somewhere to his left. Her quiet footsteps followed after, pausing nearby as she took in the scenery. "This, what do you call this?"

Behind them a thud sounded, one body landing after another. Lyla straightened up as she released her hold on the arm of a rather surprised-looking Cid. "... materia."

"This place." The gunman frowned. "It's become a natural mako reactor."

"Just what the planet needed," Lyla remarked, repressing a sigh. "... I've never seen anything like it."

Vincent was quiet, walking the circumference of the small, circular patch they'd landed in. It was after some deliberation that he raised his clawed hand, laying it carefully against the smooth, warm surface of the crystal nearest him.

"Maybe it is." He said quietly.

The brunette approached him from behind, stepping aside to reach out and allow her hand to hover an inch from the glowing surface while Rei stood back, watching from a safe distance, a puzzled look pulling at her striking features. "Maybe," Lyla echoed curiously. "... a scab. Sealing off the wound so that the Lifestream can cleanse and heal itself. It would make sense, if that were the case."

Cid rubbed at the back of his neck, frowning. "Don't like the look of things down here."

"Lyla." Vincent's tone was a warning, soft and removed. His eyes were on the gleaming surface, searching deep into the depths of the glow.

He had seen the world reach up and do this before. Twice, now. If you could call it twice.

His voice drew her attention from the crystalline mass, and though a brief look of question crossed her face, it quickly passed, her hand dropping away from the surface as she took several steps back. "Right."

"None of y'all should be touchin' things," Cid said parentally, giving Vincent a pointed look.

He offered the blond a dry one in return, dutifully removing his mettalic claw. "It isn't my touch that should concern any of us."

Cid smiled wryly in reply. "Gotta set a good example for the kids, Vin."

He took a step towards Lyla, distancing himself from the mass of crystals even as the faint tremor rattled through the ground, knocking free several cultured-sized jags of materia that rained down like glittering hail.

The pilot gestured broadly with his right hand, spear still gripped in the left as he leaned against it. "That," he began, "is all thanks to your touchin' things, son."

Lyla raised her arm to shield her eyes from the crystal raining down from above, watching the crystals shift from beneath it, safely.

A sudden, brilliant glow lit inside the largest of the materia. Twin, rippling points that rippled and faded within a moment. Vincent jerked around, going stiff as a man being shot at.

The shape inside flexed, fingers curling against the restraint of its mineral prison.

Rei's eyes widened as she watched, frozen where she stood. "Father."

"Vincent?" Lyla closed a hand around his upper arm as he stiffened, though her grip went lax as the shade within the crystal began to move. She found her eyes fixed on it, unable to look away even as she doubled over.

Vincent picked her up, unwilling to let her get any head starts, should she decide to take off on her own again in an unknown direction. "Looks like touching or not didn't make a difference." He observed, turning to look up the expanse of the crater speculatively.

She did not resist him, rather made an attempt to help by clasping her hands together behind his neck. She opened her mouth to suggest something, but instead only a pained cry escaped; she buried her face in his shoulder to muffled the sound even as the searing pain shot through her. Rei had begun to stagger towards the glowing prison, one hand outstretched.

"Father. Come out. We've come for you."

"Shit," Cid swore, swinging the Venus Gospel forward. "Girl, if you touch that thing, I swear to whatever higher power there is that I will do my best to try and beat your ass before you stab me to death."

The wind rushed upward from nowhere, biting cold and burning hot at once. On it echoed a thousand whispering voices, those of men and women. Reverberating in the crystalline walls and scattering into the air like frightened birds.

Vincent shook his head as if to clear them, judging the distance to the next ledge up haphazardly before making the leap. "Rei." He hissed. "Cid's right, come away from there."

The girl in black stood her ground, glaring up at their self-appointed leader, a sneer curling her upper lip. "I'm going to wait for him," she said firmly. "He needs me."

The gunman took a breath, glancing down at the woman in his arms, before turning his cool look back onto Rei. "Wait for him from a safe distance. Doesn't your mother need you, too?"

"C'mon, sweetheart, we're goin'," Cid urged her, seizing her by the arm and beginning to tug her towards the incline. She glared at him, green eyes smoldering as she turned them towards Vincent. She jerked her arm back, reclaiming it, but grudgingly began to follow, leaving Cid to bring up the rear. He hoped to make sure she didn't double back as they ascended, though truth be told, if she wanted to, he didn't have the physical prowess it would take to stop her.

Lyla watched over Vincent's shoulder as the glowing mass beneath them continued to shake apart, the shape within becoming more distinct, more defined. She bit at her lower lip to silence herself, unaware of the fact that she had drawn blood.

He put a single, gloved finger against her teeth, his expression somber.

He didn't need her to bite through it, either.

But the shaking was impossible to ignore. He glanced at Cid, as if unsure of how to proceed. They had come here to find Sephiroth. It seemed foolish to run, having accomplished as much.

The whispers howled louder on the increasing wind, cutting sharp trails across exposed skin. The sound of numerous languages, innumerable words. Vincent closed his eyes. Why? What was that sound?

A distant, wailing cry that resonated in something like his bones.

And then the crack pierced through his other thoughts.

Below them the boulder-like chrysalis splintered up its center, finally giving in to the thrashing of the creature it encased.

"He's coming," Rei hissed, looking back in time to see the cocoon begin to fragment at its core. "We came to keep him from Jenova, we cannot leave him. If he follows us will you run again?"

"It's n-not about running from him," Lyla countered, grunting softly as she forced herself to speak through the foreign pain that stabbed with each crack of the chrysalis below. "It won't do anyone any good if we're speared by m-materia."

Reno stopped in his tracks as he saw the four of them approaching rapidly, Cait Sith still mounted on his shoulders. "Don't know why I even bother following. What the hell is going on down there, you guys?"

"Hell is breaking loose." Vincent murmured, turning from his new vantage point to look down at the crumbling mass of condensed energy as it shattered into the writhing fog. "We just have to hope it's on our side, this time."

Below them, a low howl joined the chorus on the wind. It began deep in the throat, erupting from the crater's base as the materia split entirely apart.

Sephiroth staggered as he emerged from the encasing glow, skin still slick with the amniotic fluid of the planet's very life stream, and the faint pulse of Jenova's warm, dark will. He gagged on the first gasp for breath, crumpling forward though he did not fall.

The howl stopped her as though a string had been tugged. Rei jerked backwards as she came to a sudden halt, whirling around to face the path behind them, staring down into the pulsing depths, the entire place aglow with the faint green of the Lifestream. "Father!"

Lyla loosened her hold on her guardian, if only a little, clasping her hands against his shoulder to avoid catching tham against his hair. "Oh, god," she murmured, looking past Cid's silhouette towards the rising glow.

"Well. If it's not, then... I mean, between all of us, we can beat the crap out of a newly hatched Sephiroth, right?" Reno suggested, even as he brandished his nightstick and set it to begin sparking electricity.

"How many times d'we have tae kill 'im before he gets the picture?" Cait Sith said with some dismay, digging out a pair of dice.

The creature below them straightened slowly, lifting his head to stare out at his surroundings searchingly, bright, inhuman eyes roving the immediate area like a hungering beast. They gleamed a brighter green than the life-stained air, vibrant even in the haze. And as they began to focus, Sephiroth squeezed them shut, pressing palms against his ears as he screamed again.

Around them the endless murmurs stilled as though in fright, the voices dying as his own cut into the air.

"No!" The silver-haired girl lurched forward, leaping from the ledge and allowing herself to plummet downwards, remaining upright even as she picked up speed. The mist of the planet's lifeblood rose around her as she descended, landing solidly on her feet at the bottom. She slowly drew herself upwards, righting herself as she turned to face the man with his hands pressed to his ears.

"You don't have to scream. We are here."

Those eyes snapped open again, finding the girl before them after a moment's search to focus. Sephiroth stared at her, impossibly still for what felt like a tiny eternity strung between the planet's fingers.

He stumbled as he drew himself upright, snarling as he reached out, bracing his weight against the discarded shell that had been his coffin and his womb. Wide, calloused hands groped for his bare chest and abdomen, searching for something they could not seem to find.

"Loud." He croaked, the word breaking in a throat raw with long disuse.

"You hear her, too," Rei reasoned, her frame drooping slightly as her demeanor softened. "This place, it can't help being loud. It's screaming. We came to take you away from it. Somewhere you can be well, Father."

He looked at her briefly, the confusion on his features fading as his eyes darted upwards, only to redouble again as they came to rest on the group above. He took a step past her, body seizing in protest as he moved, only to ripple when sheer will power forced it to obey.

Sephiorth flickered from view as he moved, the wind catching his hair for a moment before he was gone.

He reappeared square between the Turks, seizing them one each by the collar.

"Cloud." He said again, between clenched teeth. "Wh-ere. Is he."

"Wh-whoa, hey hey hey hey hey!" Reno struggled to break free of his grasp, grunting softly. In another situation he would have jolted his assailant into letting go, but a knee-jerk reaction would likely be frowned upon here. ... a thirty-second head start, then he was going to start electrocuting people. "He's not here, he didn't come along! We brought your kid, that's all!"

The large man dropped both Turks, looking wild-eyed over his shoulder.

Rude, who had roughly a foot on Reno, and consequently much less distance to drop, offered his friend a hand up.

Sephiroth took two steps away, and then one back, his expression flickering between panic, confusion and rage. "Nibelheim." He muttered, searching the faces again. "Meteor..." He turned, fixing his hard look on Vincent and Cid in turn. "I know you." He growled, taking a step away. Grabbing for his head again. "No... no I don't. Mother... and. Don't... cry, Loz?" The naked SOLDIER winced, shaking his head. "Who?" He asked aloud, angry.

Too many memories collided against themselves at once, and not all of them- no none of them. Were any of them his own?

Cid edged a step backwards, unaware of the body that had planted itself behind him as he did so. "Yeah, I'm sure you got a lotta questions. A lot's been goin' on and Jenova's been usin' your face to do most of it. Gonna be a lot to sort through," he said evenly.

"Father, be calm," Rei instructed from behind the pilot. "The screaming will stop. There is always confusion, when you are new."

Lyla grimaced, forcing herself to tighten her hold on Vincent's shoulders even as her legs fought to rebel, wanting so badly to lower themselves to the ground and approach the silver-haired man, hands desperate to reach out and touch, a much stronger pull than the gentle tug that had tempted her to touch the chrysalis below. She went rigid, refusing to move, pressing her forehead against Vincent's shoulder once more. "Don't let me get down," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Oh god, don't let me get down."

He said nothing in response, only tightened his arms with a reassuring weight.

And then Sephiroth's roving eyes found her. And for one moment, every cell in him went very still.

It was as if something clicked into place, and the terror and fury leaked away, replaced with some strange shade of dawning comprehension. He blinked again, slowly, turning to search the assembled forms for the girl who shared his face.

Father. Was that another memory that should have been his, but was not? Or one of too many clamoring in his mind that was not his own?

"I don't understand." He said at last, unevenly.

"It's gonna be a long story," Cid explained, as calmly and evenly as any of those assembled had ever heard him. "An' it's not a pretty one. But it's all gonna be explained, y'just gotta stay calm. Everyone be calm. All we want is for everyone here to be safe, right?"

Rei surveyed the pilot warily. "There is also a lot that I don't understand," she said finally, moving forward. "Everything is loud and nothing is clear. I knew to find you. That is all. We are safer together."

Reno rubbed at his neck where his collar had been pulled against it. "It's not that long. You died, buddy. A crackpot at Shinra made a bunch of clones, Jenova got into 'em and started wreaking havoc. They got put down, most of them. But you, you're the real deal. And your girl here," he went on, nodding towards Rei, "among others, wants to see that Jenova doesn't get at you again. Give you a chance, I think."

Sephiroth frowned down at himself, the long, tapered fingers of one hand curling open as he searched them for some answer. "The reactor." he said slowly, uncertainly. "We were sent to deal... with the reactor, in Nibelheim. The soldiers there... I don't know why I..."

The fingers clenched. "No." His voice was firmer. Flatter, suddenly. He closed his eyes. "I do. It seemed right. So perfectly just. I wanted..."

"Been through a rough time," Cid began. "We know."

Lyla's grip tightened slightly, nails pressed against Vincent's back, biting into the cloth of his cape, wordless.

He doubled over, the growl pulling free of hi throat in another ragged cry. "G-get out." He hissed, taking a step away. "Get out. Get -out.- You've done ENOUGH."

"Father!" His feminine mirror staggered forward, one hand outstretched. "No, no. Don't listen. Don't listen to her voice, listen to me. Let me help!"

Sephiroth, the master swordsman and near destroyer of worlds, looked up at Rei between clenched fingers. His mako-gaze was pulled wide and wild through the damp, ruffled curtain of his hair.

"No." He said after a breath's hesitation. "Rei- why do I know you. No- get away from me. All of you. While there's time to do it."

"You know me because she knows me," Rei tried to explain, her tone very much the one of a child who had been chastised. "Jenova connects us all. All that you slept through, are you remembering it? Remembering in pieces?"

"Rei," Cid warned, stepping forward to seize her by the arm yet again. She didn't fight this time, only looked back at him, hurt, lost. "It's too much at once, y'know. Yer gonna overload 'im at this rate."

The crouching man straightened enough to reach out for the girl, taking her by a shoulder. Laying a hand, spread-fingered, against the flat of her face. The shake in him was barely a tremble, something faint and strung with nervous tension, like the hum of a rope about to snap.

"Run." He said hoarsely, releasing her too abruptly. "Run from me."

"No," came the stubborn reply, plaintive. Rei tugged her arm free to lurch forward, laying a hand over his against her face. "You need me, you need us. Take me with you."

"Rei," Lyla's voice sounded from somewhere behind her. The brunette had turned her head slightly to watch the scene, peeking out around the edge of Vincent's cowl as though afraid to let herself see any more than that. "Please... please do as he says."

He took his hand back with some strange hesitation he couldn't account for. For a moment, something flickered across his face. Dark and malicious, something so pure and hateful and full of joy that Vincent took a step away.

And then it was gone. He retracted his touch as though Rei's pale skin had burned.

There was nothing to leave behind, his departure instant and complete- as though he had merely ceased to be.

The silver-haired girl stared after him, impossibly green eyes wide as she looked, frantically, for any trace. But he was simply gone, left without a trace. Setting her jaw, she turned to face Vincent, eyes narrowed sharply, determined. "Take care of Mother. I will find him and bring him to you." She turned on her heel, every movement sharp, sudden, and though it wasn't as instantaneous as her predecessor's departure had been, she seemed to vanish once she had pushed off the ground, leaving the rest to their own devices.

"Shit," Reno hissed, looking up as though he might find some trace of them in the sky. "It was going pretty well for a minute there, too."

Lyla slowly eased her hold on her guardian, carefully easing her feet to the ground, though there was a noticeable tremble to her movement. She was reluctant to free herself completely, arms still loosely clasped around his shoulders, using him as her support. "... gone. Just gone."

The gunman didn't let go, as though she might leave with them should he retract his hand. He frowned after them, eyes turned distinctly downward. "We have to go after her." He said with a frown.

"Yeah, yer right," Cid conceded, swinging his spear back to slide it into its harness. "And we will. But I'm thinkin' right now, everyone needs a little rest. Somethin' t'eat, good night's sleep, maybe two if we're feelin' real wacky. Been at this for a couple days now, an' we got no idea where those two are gone to. Time to regroup."

Vincent's frown deepened a notch as he turned to catch a glimpse of the blond somewhere to his right. But he nodded, at last loosening his hold on the scientist to search overhead for the beat of the Shera.

"Alright." He said quietly.

Lyla resisted the urge to pull back and hug herself; whether it was to ward off the cold or something else entirely, she couldn't say. She frowned, averting her eyes from the group, peering past the ledge towards the bright glow that marked the outer ring of the cave's bottom layer, one arm still draped carefully around the caped man.

"I know you can go on forever," Cid grumped, punching a series of keys on his phone to alert his crew of their return before pocketing the device, "But the rest of us are human bein's, mostly."

Vincent offered him a long, cool look. Something almost like a smile at the corner of his mouth. "I said alright." He pointed out too reasonably.

Cid looked slightly taken aback, then smiled, wearily, as he began to trudge back towards the ship. "Yeah, think I was expectin' you to argue like usual. You're sure bein' reasonable."

"I'm also outnumbered."

Vincent didn't ask Lyla if she needed a hand up. He just picked her up as he turned to head up the mountainside. No reason, he figured, not to finish what he'd begun.


	16. Chapter 16

Reno couldn't help noticing that they were a rather ragged-looking crew by the time they arrived at the Icicle Inn. He surveyed all those assembled as they filed into the hotel the town had been more or less renamed for, stretching as best he could with Cait Sith still saddled on his shoulders. "Finally, time to take a rest."

Lyla had been released somewhere along the way, and now wandered beyond the rest of the group and towards the clerk at the desk, taking the liberties of handling their sleeping arrangements. She smirked to herself, if only slightly, as she slipped Ingram's company credit card out of her bag. Not that money meant much to him, and he never bothered with keeping track of what was spent on it, but privately, she found it satisfying.

Rufus leaned heavily on a solid black cane with an ornate silver handrest just beside Reno and Rude, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the place. "Been a long time," he mused aloud, "Just like all the rest. It seems like ages since I've seen anything beyond Midgar closer than from the deck of an airship."

"There you are, ma'am." The man who handed Lyla her card back over the counter turned to wave a hand towards the back. "Hey!" He called. "I'll be doing a check in. You wanna come man this for me a moment."

"Not my job~" Trilled a voice from somewhere behind the curve of the doorframe.

"C'mon."

The slim, blue-clad woman waved a hand at him as she slunk around the corner. Her high, laced shoes making a soft, even click against the floor. "Alright, alright. Go ahead."

He snorted as she sank against the counter, watching the patrons idly without actually turning her eyes face forward.

The other man nodded, taking down a key and darting off ahead, Vincent at his heels to be shown the rooms.

"It's really not necessary," Lyla began as the man came out from behind the desk with a number of tagged keys, "I'm sure we can all find our own way- Clarise?" she asked suddenly, turning her attention to the woman in blue.

Reno approached the desk from somewhere behind her, slumping against the counter and grinning broadly. "Get me something with a sweet view."

Cid had brought up the rear, having remained outside to finish up a phone conversation he had started while ushering everyone off the ship. Now he stood with his arms crossed, watching Vincent intently.

The woman behind the counter blinked, startling upright abruptly. "Huh? Oh! Hi, Lyla." She cocked her head, brows knitting. "Oh, been awhile, huh? Nice to see you're still very much alive."

"Remarkably," the brunette confessed, tucking Ingram's card back into her bag. "It's been, what, four years now? Ever since Ava-" She paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, if only very faintly. "Ever since we got news of that terrorist attack."

"Oh. Hey," Reno began, pointing at the woman. "You're the one who left to get donuts and never came back."

She blinked at him, wide eyed, then over at Lyla again. "Oh. Uhm. Yeah, well." She said sheepishly, flipping her hand out, palm up. "I mean. You know. It's a long way out here, and I had to walk, so. I'd say I made pretty good time, really."

"I hope you took the liberties of eating the donuts yourself," Lyla went on casually, "Since the boss wound up dead pretty shortly afterwards. Though if you have any left, we do have President Shinra the second with us."

"The prez has been kind of cranky lately, though," Reno supplied, "So something with sprinkles might be nice."

Clarise crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her inconsiderable weight to one hip. "So, you two are still together. That's nice t-..ooo...h. Oh. No," she amended, watching Lyla bite into a metaphorical lemon. "No, you are not. Well, okay. Still buddies, that's- not the case either. ...Hm." She cleared her throat. "So!" She began again, with the sterile, liquid cheer of a trained HR person. "What are you doing here, angry not-couple?"

Reno waved dismissively, propping himself up off the counter with his other hand. "Working. Or something. It started out as work."

"Kind of a long story," Lyla confessed, "That I will be happy to tell you at a later date when my head isn't throbbing quite so much."

The pale, gingery blond eyed them from one to another, drumming her blue-painted nails against the wooden countertop. "Well," she said after a moment, albeit a bit doubtfully. "That seems fair. Don't expect to find me at the desk though, don't spend much time here, generally."

"No? You don't work for the inn?" Lyla asked with a raised brow. "Just here for the ambience?"

She snorted, letting chin drop into hand. "So you're here for the stimulating shopping experience instead? But no, I teach snowboarding out on the North side. You'd be amazed how many morons try to make it from here to the bottom without a shred of know-how."

"Sounds like fun," Reno told her in earnest, crossing his arms over his chest and settling into a more relaxed stance, shifting his weight back to one foot. "Kind of sounds like heading into the glacier without lessons would mean a deathwish, though."

On the counter the slim woman tittered. "Oh man. You should've heard this one guy. I thought he was toast for sure-" she paused. "Well, metaphorically. More like a popsicle. A flat one."

Lyla winced sympathetically, biting gently at her lower lip, not expecting the sting it caused where she had drawn blood earlier. "That bad, really? Did it never occur to them to walk around the trail? Though I guess boarding down would be faster. Weren't they talking about having a ferry to the bottom installed?"

"Sometimes you just can't find the trail." The small woman shrugged. "Been literally up to my eyeballs in snow around here. The ferry was scheduled for a year or two ago, but after all the world-wide kicking and screaming, tourism's been a little more laid back than the norm, you know? Haven't put together the funds." She grinned. "As for that one guy, I've never seen worse. I offered him a basic lesson, but I guess he couldn't be bothered. -Man-, he was bad. And the real dig was that he was up and down like three times. Swear I could hear him screaming like a woman all the way down."

Reno laughed loudly, ruffling his own hair to brush some of it away from his face, taking a moment to readjust the glasses he kept on top of his head. "What an idiot. Hope you got some of it on camera," he told her with a smirk. "Yo, if you ladies will excuse me. Gonna go help Rude get the prez settled. Long day, you understand. With all of the watching the rest of us almost die." He half-waved as he turned his back and headed back across the lobby. Lyla turned her attention back to Clarise and smiled sheepishly.

* * *

"This many rooms has gotta add up to a fuckin' lot of dough," Cid commented as he caught up to Vincent and the concierge, having nearly raced up the stairs to do so. "Glad I ain't footin' the bill."

"That makes two of us." came the gunman's quiet reply. "You're not exactly easy company when there's something for you to complain about."

"Look, I jus' got an opinion an' I like to make sure it's heard, that's all," the pilot said pointedly. "Which, on the topic of bein' heard, I was on the phone with Shera outside, and I didn't tell her you had a girlfriend, but she's gonna figure it out eventually and I'm just sayin', brace yourself, 'cause then you're gonna be hearin' a whole lotta opinions that ain't your own. Don't tell or anything, but no matter what else I say, I didn't marry a dummy. She's got a sixth sense about people she thinks need domesticatin'."

The gunman twitched, turning a look over his shoulder. "She isn't my girlfriend." He said flatly.

Cid smiled benevolently, an expression that seemed somewhat out of place amidst all the scruff. "Maybe y'should inform her. Girl likes you."

His companion considered that, turning his eyes down the hallway. "Convenience." He said evenly. "My shoulder looks the right shape for now. Our experience is similar."

Cid shrugged, turning up one gloved hand for emphasis. "I'm just sayin'. Seems to like you a lot. An' I've caught you smilin', which you an' I both know is as rare as snow in fuckin' July. Kinda fits your profile, too, bein' a professional labcoat an' all. So if she ain't your girlfriend, maybe you better tell her that. Cause she's a nice girl, an' I'd hate to attend her funeral anytime soon." He grinned broadly, cigarette dangling loosely between his lips.

Vincent opened his mouth, only to close it again a moment later. Most wouldn't have noticed the gesture, half hidden behind cloak and hair, but he knew Cid had been around too long to miss it. With a grunt he turned back to the hallway, making more interest in selecting a room than he actually had.

"I wasn't smiling." He muttered, dangerously close to petulant.

Cid smirked in reply, even as he found himself faced with Vincent's backside. "Yeah, and that wasn't chucklin' I heard neither, am I right? You tell yourself what you like, jus' don't let it go too far 'cause you're bein' all stubborn and oblivious again. All I'm sayin'."

"Again?" He straightened, frowning at Cid over his shoulder- this time quite noticeably.

"Well. Situation might be new, but y'always think noone could possibly want t'spend time on you willingly. Y'were stubborn about even comin' over for dinner for months cause you thought we were just pityin' you," Cid pointed out.

Vincent sighed. "You're never going to forget that, are you." He said without really adding the aspect of question to it. "I'm not... social, Cid. I don't usually expect that people will think I am."

"Yeah, I know you're not, wouldn't expect y'to be any different," Cid assured him, reaching up to flick a bit of ash off his cigarette and into a potted plant. "It's 'cause you're not social that I thought it'd be nice t'warn you. Mighta noticed something before you, that's all."

Vincent sunk into his shoulders slightly, but nodded. "Well." He said slowly. "Thank you. I'll... speak with her."

"Jus' be discreet, I'm sure you can handle it," Cid assured his friend. "Just nippin' it in the bud before it becomes somethin' t'worry about. I'm gonna go check in with Shera, seems she ain't feelin' too well. Was hopin' to pick her up on our way through if we could, ship needs its other mechanic."

The gunman nodded, selecting a room at random of their number to push his way inside. "I guess I'll take advantage of the chance to wash up." He said simply, shutting the door with a small click behind him. "...Thanks." His voice slipped between the crack, almost grudgingly. If genuine.

Cid waved as he turned his back and helped himself to the room one door over, locking it behind him even as he flipped his phone open and began to dial.

* * *

"It's been an interesting week," Lyla was explaining to Clarise downstairs, gingerly leaning her weight against the desk. "I can fill you in a bit if you know where I can find some aspirin."

The woman disappeared behind the counter with a click of balancing heels, an array of objects emerging shortly afterward.

"Pencilbox, stapler, note pad, gauze, rubber band, what the fuck is that, paper clips, more paper clips, oh my GOD Dret was looking for that apple, ASPIRIN." The bottle nudged itself up next to a small chocobo shaped eraser, followed shortly by Clarise. "There you go."

Lyla smiled wearily, grateful, taking the bottle in one hand and twisting the cap off before giving the chocobo eraser an experimental poke. "Cute," she remarked. "Thanks." She helped herself to three pills, proceeding to dry-swallow them immediately, capping the bottle and setting it back on the counter. "Hopefully that helps. Hell of a day. Fuck the northern crater," she said, dreary.

"The Northern Crater?" Clarise arched a brow, slumping onto the counter again. But not before she nudged the pitiable apple off the ledge. "So, what, survival the first time around was a fluke, so you thought you'd go and poke the worst beasties around some?"

"Business," Lyla corrected her by way of an explanation, leaning against the counter from the other side, settling her chin into the palm of her hand. "Remember Dr. Ingram at all? Blonde, nerdy... kind of cute," she added, making an irritated sort of face. "We were working on going around and cleaning up all of Professor Hojo's leftovers. Turns out there was a fair amount of dishonesty involved, and he's after some of the doctor's pet projects for himself. ... we were trying to beat him to Sephiroth's remains. It's... well, you already saw that Reno is here, and Rude. Reeve sent one of his robots along with us, whether we like it or not. The president is supervising, more or less, and we have two members of AVALANCHE along as well. One of them Ingram hired himself, the other is a friend he called in."

The tiny woman slammed her hands, open palmed, against the wood, eyes wide. "NOT a huge, gun-armed guy, right?" She asked instantly, the look of vauge interest instantly replaced by penetrating edginess. "Shaved head? Freelances as a plumber."

Lyla looked startled, then shook her head, raising a brow at the fair-haired woman in reply. "No, not the guy who came to 'fix the toilets' that one time. ... two former Shinra employees, actually. Cid Highwind was the favored pilot for the space program, and Vincent is a former Turk. ... both freelancers now, it would seem. They're alright, noone is going to accost you for your keycard."

Clarise put a hand over her chest, breathing out. "Thank you, lord." She muttered.

"Have to admit," Lyla told her once the shock had passed, "It's nice to see a familiar face."

"Yeah." She waved a hand. "Seriously. Glad you're alright. I mean, you know. We weren't like, ultra-tight. But I figured if anyone deserved a heads up, y'know?"

"Might as well have been the girl who didn't try to make you her coffee bitch, I know," Lyla conceded with a nod. "It was appreciated. I really enjoyed not being blown up, honestly." She smiled faintly, reaching to rub at her right temple. "I did quit for awhile, too. Wound up having to go back... turns out Shinra sort of has a monopoly on jobs for practical and preternatural biologists."

"Imagine." She frowned, cocking her head. "Working out any better for ya? I mean, I heard they took a tank. News takes awhile to get up this far, but it always does eventually."

"It was going great, I thought," the brunette began unconvincingly, gesturing broadly towards the threesome that now sat near the fireplace: Rufus leaning back with his legs crossed, cane resting against the arm of his chair, with Reno and Rude nearby, the former bent forward over his knees as he talked, animated. "Until the reveal with Ingram. Now it's all field work, to... put it kindly. ... a lot has happened. I'm considering quitting again. ... to be perfectly honest, I'm disgusted by my chosen field at the moment."

Clarise mad a vague gesture behind herself. "We can always use another instructor." She shrugged, making a face that she rather hoped resembled 'helpful.'

"I may take you up on it at this rate," Lyla told her, flashing a tired smile. "I think I'll go lay down for a bit, help the aspirin kick in. Maybe we can talk more later?"

"I'll be around. Town's not big enough to get lost in." She smiled brightly, shuffling through the papers on the desk. "Looks like, you're in... 319 to 323. End of the second floor, hunny."

"Thanks!" She waved, just a bit, as she turned to make her way towards the stairs, the dull ache she had been feeling since the episode at the crater beginning to set in and demand her attention as she climbed. She glanced at the room numbers once she hit the second floor, taking a right and following Clarise's instructions to head towards the end of the hall. The first door belonging to their number was locked when she gingerly tried the knob, but the second door she tried was not, swinging open easily.

Vincent sighed, even as he hauled the black shirt over his shoulders and head, not bothering to turn at the sound. "Something else you needed to scold me for, Cid?" he asked, voice still plain and clear despite the press of cloth.

His back was a roadmap of misery, crossed with stitches and flat, angry scars. Red and white and a thick, deep tan that came from vicious cuts against the grain. Stitches still held the flesh together in some places, half grown over, even where the edges yawned apart.

"Oh!" She cut herself short by clapping a hand over her mouth, taking a step back into the hallway. She couldn't help wincing at the sight of his marred back, and yet somehow found herself unable to look away, her eyes following a line of stitching that curved upwards, ending near a series of what looked like fresh bruises by his right shoulderblade. "... I'm sorry, it was unlocked, I thought the room was empty, I was looking for- I'll - Vincent, did I do that to you?" she asked, frowning at the bruising from behind her hand.

The gunman jerked noticeably, his eerily all-present calm pulled taught as the voice that spoke behind him greatly differed from his expectations. "Lyla-" He began, half turning before jerking back, obviously deciding against this idea.

She quickly turned to avert her eyes as best she could, trying to force herself to stare at the end of the hallway instead, but her gaze was stubborn, pulling itself back to the mess of his back. "I didn't realize I was hurting you," she said under her breath, forcing herself to turn her head again as she reached for the doorknob. "Sorry, I'll- I didn't mean to."

"No." Vincent half turned again before halting himself, groping for the shirt he had just discarded. "No, it's fine. Wait."

"Wait?" Lyla echoed upstairs, pausing in the doorway, her hand dropping from the polished handle, dangling awkwardly at her side. "I- alright."

"It's fine-" he said again, the words edged with some growl of frustration as his questing hand missed the shirt for the second time. -Seriously?- Vincent gave a low, long suffering sigh, pressing the ungloved hand to his face. "It's fine." He said again. "You didn't hurt me."

"Here," Lyla offered quietly, daring to step into the room, approaching the bed with caution, as though it might reach out and grab her when she got too close. She closed her fingers around the fabric of his discarded shirt, handing it to him from behind, even as she found herself staring at the blossoming bruises again, eyes drawn to the rhythmless scarring that stemmed from the skin beneath them.

He closed his eyes with something like faint relief, pulling the shirt over his head again, with only some small trouble over the talons of his fighting glove. "Thank you." he said, turning around, even with cowl momentarily discarded. "Sorry. I'll-" He hesitated for a moment, Cid's words leaping up to jump him in the face. -But she wasn't looking for him, she'd said- "Am I interrupting you?"

"I was just going to pick a room and try to settle in for some quiet," Lyla told him with a shake of the head, wincing when it sent a sharp pain down her neck. She silently reminded herself not to move it quite so much until the headache died down. "I- you're not the one who needs to apologize, you know. Sorry for barging in on you. ... didn't think to knock."

He offered her a wry look. "Most men don't need privacy to remove a shirt." He pointed out. "As we've seen. Nothing to worry about.

"Alright," Lyla conceded finally, retreating a couple of steps now that he no longer needed assistance. "Is that all- I mean, not that I'm in a hurry, but did you need something?"

Vincent opened his mouth, and, much to his annoyance, closed it again. "No." he said evenly, searching the room for his cloak with calm eyes. "Don't let me keep you."

"Okay. If you change your mind, I'll be next door," Lyla offered, eyeing the dark man suspiciously even as she began to retreat towards the hallway. "Rest well, if...that's what you're after."

He nodded. "You, too." He said simply.

Lyla stepped out and carefully shut the door behind her, frowning to herself as she went to try the next unlocked door instead, relieved to find the room behind it empty after knocking.

* * *

Downstairs, Reno glanced back towards the front desk to see that Clarise had been left to her own devices. He smirked, raising a hand to wave her over. "Hey, Hottie McHotHot. C'mon over, company reunion."

The ginger paused mid-apple toss, glancing over at the Turk with a few rapid blinks. She seemed to consider this invitation dubiously for a moment, before pitching the apple down the hallway and vaulting herself over the counter, effectively abandoning her post.

From somewhere behind them came a muffled, "What th-!"

Reno flashed the ginger a broad grin. "Come on, have a seat. Good to see another survivor, always."

Clarise draped herself over the back of his chair, folding her arms. "Same to you. Guess sick leave never came in more handily, right? Never heard back on how the lot of you made out."

"Injured spine at the time, so you know, I missed the whole Sephiroth ordeal at home office. Then I was doing field work for a few months, so I missed the explosion. Lucky, really," Reno told her flippantly, gesturing vaguely.

"Ah yes," Rufus remarked coolly, withholding a sigh, "How I so would have loved to join you. I'm afraid I was unable, front-row seats to that explosion were just too good to pass up. Breathtaking. Really."

The strawberry blond pressed blue-nailed fingers over her lips, trying not to laugh at the deadpan. Then it occurred to her exactly what that meant, and she leaned forward to get a better look at the speaker. "I did hear about that. How did you make it?"

"I ducked," the president supplied flatly, flashing a polite smile afterwards. Reno snorted.

"That's retarded."

"Dumb luck?" Rufus offered instead. "Seems about the same."

"Sounds to me like you're all lucky," Clarise quipped, letting her chin rest on folded hands, looking the three men over speculatively.

"Lucky, yes, though not quite fortunate," Rufus clarified, arching a fair brow in the woman's direction. "You look familiar, which department did you work in?" It was a pleasant enough question, not nearly as condescending as it might have been otherwise.

Her lips quirked up. "Secretary." She said. "Presidential. If you want to be PC I think they call them personal assistants, these days."

"Ah. That would explain it," Rufus acknowledged with a nod, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though it failed to reach his eyes, leaving the rest of his expression completely serious. "You were never introduced to me as my new mother, were you?" Reno covered his mouth and nose to muffle another snort.

"Ew." Clarise closed her eyes, putting a hand over her face. "Oh. No. Ew." She paused, as if about to say something else, then, "No, come on. Ew."

"To be fair, it's a perfectly valid question," Rufus explained, the smirk spreading across his lips and creeping into the rest of his expression, pulling at his eyes a bit. "My father thought it was so funny that he did it once a month. ... for the record, it wasn't."

The small woman peered out at him from between her fingers somewhat less crossly than she would have liked. "Had a habit of dating the interns?" She suggested, not entirely certain why, as she wasn't particularly stoked to hear the answer.

"I think I may have been birthed by one of his earlier secretaries, to be perfectly honest," he told her, wincing slightly. "He may as well have been interviewing new secretaries under the title of paramour."

"Ew," Reno said pointedly.

"Well, I never-" She paused, finger raised in the middle of the thought. "Wait a minute." She said suddenly, brows knitting together. "What? So, what the hell was wrong with -me-?" She demanded, irate suddenly.

"My vote is that old age equals erectile dysfunction," Reno supplied cheerfully, turning to grin at Rude.

"I believe that's when my father was in his..." Rufus paused, splaying his fingers against his forehead as though the next part truly pained him. "Experimental stage."

The large man smirked, turning his head as if to dim the expression when his lips parted in a toothy grin.

Clarise closed one eye, staring at the president Shinra as if to say, 'for reals?'

Reno lifted a hand as though to shield his eyes from some imaginary light, using the width of his arm to block the smirk that now tugged at his lips.

The blonde man gave her the most serious look he could muster, expression cold and business-like. "Imagine my surprise, and horror, when Ramone, the bartender from the employee lounge, met father and I for dinner, and was introduced as the newest candidate for mother."

The ginger choked, disappearing momentarily behind the chair as she clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Aaaand that's our cue to go check out the bar! Come along, Rude," Reno said all at once, stringing his words together even as he got to his feet and started towards the door that lead to the basement, and thus, liquor.

Rufus raised a brow at the ginger-haired woman. "Do you have a name?" he asked her, ignoring Reno's departure.

"I do." She said, peeking over the top if the overstuffed chair the redhead had so recently vacated. "Clarise. Uhm. Kaht."

The bald man threw a quick salute before making after his friend at just a hair's quicker pace than the norm.

"Clarise Kaht," the president echoed, narrowing one icy eye scrutinously. "... you're the one with the keycard. You let the terrorists in." He paused, glancing towards the stairs that lead up to the second level. "Not that I can say much, traveling with their affiliates."

"Oh, hey. Part of me hoped you wouldn't know that." She tangled a single, well manicured finger into her gingery hair, tugging absently. "So. In my defense, he was a GIANT scarred black man with a shaved head and a gun for an arm. I kind of, you know. Like my face the way it is."

He gave her a dubious look for a moment, his eyes shifting back to their normal width as he settled back into his seat, hand finding its way to the polished handle of his cane. "... shows good judgment," he remarked. "Welcome back to Shinra, Ms. Kaht."

"He asked me where the toilets were, and how to get into them. Like he was even remotely wearing a plumber's- wait, what?" She paused mid-tug, blinking over at the president.

"Welcome," Rufus repeated, slower this time, taking care to annunciate, "back to Shinra, Ms. Kaht. I'll need an assistant if I'm to rebuild my company, and Reno is terrible at filing."

Clarise opened her mouth to protest this, then paused- lips parted- to consider the intelligence in her next set of options. She narrowed one eye, looking Rufus Shinra up and down, and closed her mouth. Gnawing at her lip instead.

"Health care?" She asked.

"Mm. Dental and hospital insurance as well. Not to mention the new 401k plan we're putting into effect." He smiled pleasantly, pointing to the floor above them. "I have to have something good enough to make it worth Ms. Caraway's while to stay. Yours as well, now."

She tapped her nails thoughtfully against the chair back. "And... this keycard thing. Behind us?"

His smile hitched wider, if only slightly, remaining utterly benign. "Oh, yes. Entirely. Shinra and AVALANCHE have since worked out their differences."

"And do you have a policy about hitting on your secretaries?"

"I avoid it."

"That's a shame." She smirked, pushing herself up to the click of her high-heeled strap-ons. "Well. Don't suppose you'll be spending the remainder of your days at the Icicle Inn. I'll find some traveling pants, shall I?"

His smirk mirrored her own for a moment, though he said nothing to acknowledge her first comment. "We'll be here another day or two while people recover and we regroup. Be prepared to leave after that, we'll be on the road for quite some time, it looks like. Or rather, in the air."

"Well. I wont switch to flats then."

His eyes may have traveled downwards to appraise her footwear, but if they had, it was too brief for anyone to be sure. "I trust your judgment."

"Oh, wow. Scary." She chuckled, folding her arms to appraise him more openly. "No pressure." The boldness faded for a beat while she thought things over, flipping the long ponytail over one, slim shoulder.

Her heels had to be six inches. Which meant she was even a tinier woman without them than she seemed.

He made a vague gesture with his right hand, almost flippant. "I'm sure you can rise to meet the challenge. An executive's assistant needs to be able to make executive decisions of her own."

The small creature chuckled again. "I can't decide if I've been promoted or not. Funny thing." She said, making her way across the small lobby. "Better resign then, doncha think?"

Rufus made a motion as if to tip his non-existent hat to her as she went. "How very efficient."

She smiled, but didn't bother to turn around and show it.


	17. Chapter 17

Upstairs, Vincent was sitting on the end of his bed, half lidded eyes pointed at the ceiling. "Stop that, Cid." He muttered, fully aware he would be heard.

Cid abruptly stopped the clucking sound he had been making beside the wall, letting out a snort of a laugh instead. "Can't help myself. Walls're paper thin."

"She was tired." the gunman said flatly.

"Y'don't wanna talk to a girl. Did she -say- she was tired?"

"She came in to rest." He pointed out in the same, even tone.

"Came -in-?" the pilot asked, a note of interest rising in his voice. As though he hadn't heard the bulk of what had gone on earlier. Really.

Vincent paused, as if unsure if he had just dug a slightly deeper hole for himself. Then he closed his eyes, took a breath, and trudged onward. "Yes."

"To rest," Cid near-chuckled in reply, "With you."

The gunman frowned. "She didn't know I was in here."

"Mhm, like I ain't never seen a twitterpated lady pull that one before."

"She isn't twitterpated."

"You wouldn't know twitterpated iffit bit you on the ass, Vin."

"I've had some experience." He countered flatly.

"Which you've forgotten on account of you're old."

Vincent made a noise somewhere between a snort and a grumble.

Cid smiled to himself in the growing dark, more pleased with the reaction that he was likely to admit. "You can go on not believin' me if you like. Gonna re-gret it."

"I said I would talk to her." His tone didn't change, but over the years Cid had learned to recognize the faint hitch that came with indignation.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright. I can tell y'mean it, already."

Vincent shifted, getting to his feet before sitting down again. Conversation or not, Cid couldn't actually -see- him pacing, which was just fine.

Although the shoes might give him away if he walked in circles.

Bah.

"I'm going to check on her."

"Better'n pacin'," Cid pointed out pleasantly. "Have a nice chat, Vin."

The gunman opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Smug bastard.

Cid smiled to himself. It was a nice feeling, winning these little arguments. Small victories, but infinitely sweet.

* * *

The metallic ring of his footsteps echoed in the hallway as Vincent walked. He didn't know why he was here, really. Here, in the Icicle Inn, chasing after a nightmare he had somehow helped to reawaken. And, more pressingly, here, outside of Lyla's room, frowning down at his hand as it hovered before the knob. He sighed, raising a hand to knock. Not like he was going to have a satisfactory answer to either any time soon.

Lyla frowned slightly at the knock, looking up from her place at the mirror, where she had been in the process of tying back her still-damp hair. Raising an eyebrow at the door, she finished pulling her hair into a single tail, brushing her hands off against her hips. "Yes?"

"Lyla?" Vincent's voice filtered quietly though the hardwood door. "Are you... am I interrupting you?"

"Oh! Vincent- no, you're fine." Her expression shifted to one of surprise rather than suspicion as she made her way to the door, turning the lock and taking a brief moment to compose herself, opening it a moment later. Truth was, she hadn't even managed anything resembling a nap, though the throbbing headache had managed to recede. She had been too distracted for sleep, both by the events of the day and the series of missed calls and previously unread texts on her phone.

He paused as the barrier between them abated, brows knitting though the cowl hid his frown from view. "You seem distressed." He noted.

"A little," she admitted, stepping aside to hold a hand out, inviting him in. "I would be concerned if I weren't ruffled by everything going on, though, wouldn't you?"

"Point." He agreed, turning to watch her for a moment before searching the room for a place to sit. He didn't want to hover over Lyla, and the woman seemed to need to sit down. Badly.

"What can I do for you?" she offered with a faint smile, helping herself to a seat on the edge of the bed, nodding to the space to her left as an unspoken invitation.

Well, what the hell was he supposed to say -now-?

Thank you, Cid.

Thank you.

Vincent took the seat in a few measured steps, sinking down without a rattle from his armored extremities. "The... past few days." He paused uncertainly.

"It's all been very surreal," she admitted softly. She noticed a faint glint of silver to her right; her hand darted out to snatch her phone from its place on the bedspread and pocket it. She glanced his way, expression blank, questioning as she studied his uncertain look.

His brows lifted at her dive for the phone, but he said nothing. Made no indication to ask. Instead he lowered his head, thinking out the next few sentences very carefully.

Then he sighed.

"I thought you should know." Vincent Valentine said evenly, "That I have a history with... brunette scientists." He paused, catching her eye out of the corner of his own. "They die. Generally."

She watched him steadily for a few moments, allowing herself to blink twice, slowly. "... seriously?" she asked after a moment, skeptical.

"My sense of humor has a lot of room for improvement."

"Okay," she began, dark brows knitting together as she turned slightly to face forward, hands braced against the edge of the mattress. "So you meet them and they drop dead? Think I'll have a better chance because I'm quitting?"

"I...don't know." He looked down at his hands.

She glanced back, lips pursed as her brow creased slightly. "... you're dead serious. ... awful choice of words."

He arched a brow at her. "You've made it longer than the last one, if that helps."

"How comforting," she told him in a most unconvincing manner. "But you know, after the week I've had, this is still the least upsetting news I've heard."

He cleared his throat. "Well. I do what I can."

"I suppose it would be pertinent to tell you, then, that I would like to be cremated and have my ashes scattered so that I don't freakishly pull myself back together," she said blankly, frowning.

"That might just do it." He said doubtfully.

"They don't, uh," Lyla thought aloud suddenly, wincing. "Die because you shoot them, do they?" Not that she thought Vincent was a serial killer or anything. But you know. She wasn't quite sure where to go with the subject he had given her.

He paused, looking over. "No." He said, giving her a long, cool blink. Even if his eyes were a fraction wider than their norm. "They don't."

"... I didn't think so. Just... hm." She winced again, averting her eyes as she gripped the edge of the mattress and bedcovers just a bit harder. "You must be great on a date. With the killer conversation topics. ... also a bad choice of words. I always wonder at why I haven't chosen to become a selective mute."

"It isn't..." He paused, glancing over at her. "Meant to upset you. Poor choice of words. ...Sorry."

"No," she told him, pairing a shake of her head with a dismissive wave. "It's fine, now we both get to be pleasantly surprised when I break the cycle."

He snorted softly, and it could have been amusement, on someone else.

She looked up finally, offering him another thin but genuine smile. "Were you checking up on me?"

Vincent hesitated before giving her a faint nod.

"I appreciate it," she confessed, fidgeting slightly. "I normally like the peace and quiet, but it's been giving me too much time to think now. I don't think anyone else's interruptions would be so welcome at the moment. They don't get it."

"I don't know if I do, either." the gunman rasped to his hand, frowning faintly. "But it's closer, maybe."

"Close enough," she agreed, also shifting her attention to her hands, "That you keep managing to make me feel like it's not so awful after all."

"I don't understand that either," he admitted, not for the first time. "But good."

"It's because you're always so calm. ... it makes it easier to come down from being upset and to be reasonable instead. Logical."

He wasn't entirely certain what to say to that. Panic had never been in him. Not really. It wasn't Vincent's natural course of action, even in the days of manhood, to walk off a handle, let alone fly. The gunman frowned thoughtfully, looking at her sideways. "That's what I'm here for."

"Yeah, I noticed that," she told him, nodding faintly. "I'm glad that you are."

He nodded, looking back down at his hands.

He had panicked once, his mind spoke up suddenly. Prickling unpleasantly in the back of his throat and down the hollow where his heart should have been. Panicked and ran like a silly boy into the arms of blood-mawed madness. He closed his eyes, willing the memory to dissipate. Vanish into the murk of the years before it as though that might take some of the shine from its clarity.

"Hey... Vincent?" She dared to reach out and lightly rest her fingers against his forearm, frowning. "... are you alright?"

"Thinking." He said hoarsely. "I'm alright."

She retracted her hand, cautious. "I see."

The moment broke, and before he realized he'd done it, Vincent was on his feet again. "If you need anything..."

"... I'll let you know," she finished for him, following suit and getting to her feet as well. "If you're sure I won't be bothering you."

"No." He shook his head. "Not at all."

"And likewise, you know," Lyla added, "Though I doubt there's much I can do for you."

"Better to help those who need it." He nodded, quirking his lips wryly.

"I don't feel very useful lately. Maybe if I take a day to get my head on straight."

"You'll find your feet."

She smiled again, folding her arms over her chest. "Thanks."

"Just the truth."

"But nice to hear."

Vincent paused before he nodded again, making his way to the door. "Take care, Lyla."

"You too," she told him, waiting until he had stepped through to shut and lock the door behind him. She slumped against it a moment later, sliding down the length of it until she landed bodily on the floor. "Fuck," she cursed under her breath. "This is stupid. Illogical. I've known him less than a week. Why the hell do I like him so much? There are so many other things to worry about. Get a hold of yourself, this isn't high school."

Outside, and roughly six steps away, Vincent stopped dead.

Lyla froze, slowly turning to press her ear to the door when she heard the footsteps halt. "... oh god. You have super-hearing, too."

Did he answer that? Did he start walking again? Shit.

A soft groan sounded from her side of the door as she buried her face in her hands. "I hate my whole life," she told her palms very decidedly.

Oh good lord, Vincent thought, turning to finish his trek back to the claimed room.

That's contagious, too.

Cid knocked faintly at the wall. "So?"

"Guh." Vincent said, laying face down on the bed. "I took care of it." He muttered into the pillow.

"You sound chipper," the aviator observed.

"Kill me."

"That good, huh."

"Awesome." He grunted into the fluffy coverlet.

"I am guessin' the bud didn't get nipped in."

"Oh. It did. Just... unconventionally."

"Oh. ... well, good. Maybe she won' die on you, then."

Vincent grunted something that was either a thank you or a curse.


	18. Chapter 18

Lyla was slow to descend the stairs the next morning, the renewed throbbing in her head keeping her from functioning as well as she would have liked. Maybe it had been a mistake to join Reno and Rude in the bar the night before, but to be honest, with all that had been going on this past week, she needed a drink worse than she ever had, that she could remember, in her admittedly short life. Her vision wasn't quite swimming, and thanks to another pair of aspirin, the throbbing pain was receding to a dull ache, and she decided, as she made her way to the inn's lobby, that it had been worth it.

Clarise was in a coat and high boots, brushing the snow from the ruff of white that hugged her neck. She peeped out over the fluff, shoving her goggles up to get a better look at Lyla as she descended.

"Rough night?" She guessed, lips drawing into a small line of curiosity.

The brunette looked up from the seat she had approached, paused midway through pulling her computer from the bag she had set at her feet. "You could say that," she said rather morosely, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear, revealing faint circles under her eyes. "Just didn't sleep too well."

"Well, that's not what I usually hear." She snorted and paused, unwilling to cough a white puffball up, despite her lungs sudden insistence. After a moment to swallow she shoved the collar down again, trotting behind Lyla to peek over her shoulder. "Work?"

"Mhm," Lyla confirmed, settling the computer into her lap and opening it. "In a manner of speaking. ... we need a new destination, so I'm going to look to the news. See if there are any reports on our runaway."

"This... is going to be a long trip, isn't it." The ginger guessed with a soft sigh, pushing her eyewear up into her hair.

"It seems like it could be. There's a lot to be done," Lyla went on to explain, her voice growing less pained the more she spoke, narrowing her eyes as she brought up a number of news sites. She pulled a pair of reading glasses from her bag without looking, smoothing her hair back after putting them on. "You sound disappointed?"

"Well, I guess it doesn't -really- matter either way." She said reasonably, lifting up in her high-heeled boots to get a better view of the screen. "Have to move, in any case. So, uhm. What kind of runaway are we talking about here? A giant tentacled... thingie?"

"Have to mo- are you coming along?" Lyla glanced up from her screen, eyeing Clarise as best she could without straining her neck, a difficult feat looking over her shoulder. "... how did Reno and Rude manage that, I wonder. Oh, our runaway is - well. A person of some notoriety. ... he'll be recognized wherever he goes, which is why I'm checking the news first."

"Wow. Doesn't that sound super-special comforting." She frowned, dropping down onto her heels again. "And show stopping as the big guy is, it wasn't their idea."

"If you're coming with us, you deserve not to be coddled. We're chasing after- no? Was it the president's?" the brunette asked with genuine interest.

"Apparently the Turks file for crap."

She laughed, turning her attention back to the computer screen. "Why am I not surprised? Well. Welcome aboard. Brace yourself, you'll probably hear a lot of things you really don't want to as the trip goes on."

"Well isn't that just the story of my life," Clarise smirked, not laying as heavily into the dramatics as she would have liked, honestly. Something about the situation was just too morbidly funny.

Lyla shrugged, scrolling to the end of one page before clicking over to the next. "Just warning you, that's all. ... oh! Hey, here's something." She leaned in slightly, pushing her glasses up her nose as she read the headline over twice. 'Sephiroth Lookalike Spotted in Junon; Three Witnesses Speak Up.'

"Junon?" Clarise murmured, straightening up, even as she set her weight to one side. If the fact that they were looking for Sephiroth had sunk in, her face gave no immediate indication. But then, she had left the company before wide-spread discussion of his return. "You came up here, looking for someone in Junon?"

"No. He was in this area," Lyla corrected her, her tone somewhat distracted as she read. "We met him. He ran off afterward. I'm just trying to find out where to. I doubt he'll remain in Junon very long, but if there's another sighting or two, I might be able to predict where he's headed next."

Clarise turned a somewhat disbelieving stare on the back of Lyla's head.

"I can feel you staring. Did you have a question?"

"You know what? No. I do not." She pulled the goggles back down. "Less I know, the safer I feel. I'm gonna go pack a shotgun." She said, turning on her heel.

"Saw off the end," Lyla informed her, deadpan as she clicked over to the next article. "I hear it makes a bigger hole."

"Yeah." She agreed almost flippantly. "The buckshot helps."

"So I've heard."

Clarise opened her mouth, but the squeak of the stairs distracted the commentary, if only for a moment. She half turned, casting a curious eye up the thin flight.

Vincent paused mid-step as he felt sudden attention on him. He frowned down at the ginger, continuing on after a beat.

Lyla's attention was also drawn upwards for a moment; she averted her eyes and fixed them very decidedly on her screen once she spotted the figure on the stairs, fumbling to push her glasses up into her hair before setting herself to typing.

"Mornin', ladies," Cid announced from behind Vincent, catching himself against the railing to avoid crashing into his friend when he paused in the middle of the staircase, continuing when the way was clear.

"Good morning," Clarise offered with a slight trill, resetting herself into watching Lyla.

Then blinked, owlishly, and leaned forward.

"Hunny," she whispered, "Why are you typing 'oh god oh god oh god oh god' over and over?"

"Because," Lyla began evenly, her voice low, though not quite a whisper, "I'm neurotic. It's debilitating."

Cid raised a brow at the pair of them as he reached the bottom of the stairs, pulling a single cigarette from his front pocket and settling it between his lips, whipping his lighter out immediately afterward and putting it to use. "Guess the others're late risers?"

"Nae," Cait Sith offered, climbing up onto the table in front of Lyla from god-knew-where. "Jes' more'n a lil'l bit hung over, lad."

Clarise stared at him.

"Oh!" Cait Sith tipped his crown. "G'day lassie."

"Good... uhm. Day."

Lyla paused in her constant clicking to peer at Cait Sith over the top of her monitor. "Oh. Good morning."

"Gotta admit, I'm surprised yer up so early, lassie." the robot told her, leaning over the top of the screen.

The brunette blinked at him in reply, fixing her eyes on the screen again even as she went on to answer. "I don't sleep very much. Means I'm more of a morning person than I'd like to be, sometimes."

Cid nudged Vincent with his elbow as he passed. "I'm gettin' coffee, you wan' any?"

"Please." He said in the same, even tone as always, though the cat fancied it was somewhat flat, for whatever reason.

"Woulda thought ye'd be laid out flat what with all th'drinkin' ye did las'night, though." He continued blithely.

"Sure, be righ' back," the pilot assured him, heading towards a room where he had just seen one of the inn's employees disappear with two full pots of coffee. Not today, bellhop. Not today.

Lyla looked up again, expression perfectly blank before she turned on her sweetest smile, though weariness tugged at the rest of her features. "How kind of you to be concerned," she began evenly. "I can hold my liquor."

"Holdin' an' caravanin' are two different things, lassie." Cait Sith chirruped.

Clarise took a step away from the whole thing, and couldn't plainly justify why. But it bumped her into the tall, stoic looking man just to their left, and she overcompensated the next two steps to bring her 'round to face him.

"Oh!" She said with a point, "I know you!"

"Cait," Lyla went on, as though about to ask the cat for a favor. She carefully lifted her computer from her lap and closed it, setting it on the table in front of her. "Would you join me outside for a few minutes? I need to talk to you in private. I have a message for Reeve."

Vincent opened his mouth, but he had already lost the blond's attention as she turned to eye Lyla. And he had to admit, he couldn't blame her. He felt an aura of impending doom suddenly surge into being all around them.

"Aye?" The cat asked.

"Here," the brunette offered, picking the cat up and cradling him in one arm as she got to her feet, making her way to the front door and disappearing through it. She could be seen passing the window to the left, out of sight by the time the mechanical yowling sounded, followed by the screeching of a number of gears being crushed all at once, and a loud thunk.

She reappeared a moment later, going back to her seat and opening her computer again as though nothing had happened.

Clarise and Vincent were still staring at her when the others arrived.

"Is there something on my face?" she asked without looking up, deadpan as she continued to browse through current news stories. Cid looked perplexed when he returned, a cup of coffee in each hand, holding one out to Vincent as he took a long sip from the other.

"What're we lookin' at?"

The gunman took his and began to drink from it without actually taking his eyes off the woman at the computer.

Below him, the recently returned secretary cleared her throat, whirling on one high-heeled boot. "Him." She said, jerking her thumb in Vincent's direction. "It was definitely him. Not Lyla. At all."

Cid looked his friend over, appraising him. "Doesn't look any funnier than usual," he pointed out, taking another long sip of his coffee. Behind him, Reno appeared at the bottom of the staircase, yawning and rubbing at the back of his neck as he joined the group.

"Mornin'. Damn, Caraway, no hangover? You were almost on the floor last night," the redhead observed, stifling another yawn before running his fingers through his hair a few times, adjusting the glasses that sat atop his head afterwards.

"More of a man than you are, apparently," she said distractedly. "Hold on, I'm looking for something."

"It is an oil stain remover?" Clarise asked, looking over her shoulder.

"No," came Lyla's clipped response, clicking a few more times and biting at her lower lip as she skimmed another article. Rufus had brought up the rear of the group, making it down the last few steps by running his right hand along the railing with his cane in his left. "Ah, here we go. In the last 24 hours, Sephiroth has been spotted in Kalm, near Fort Condor, and more recently in Junon. There have been a number of sightings there, two of which are at the harbor. It looks like he's moving west, though I don't know why he would bother with a ship. I don't think he would."

"Costa Del Sol." Rude observed, straightening a cufflink as he spoke.

Clarise jumped, looking their number over in an effort to place the voice.

"Sounds like the next stop, logically," Rufus interjected, coming to a stop beside Reno and Rude. "As we have the airship, we can get there in relatively short order. Ask around for information, see if we can follow him more closely, if not beat him there." He paused, surveying all those assembled. "Where is Caith Sith?"

Vincent and Clarise exchanged a look.

"We should hurry, then."

"I'll let them know I'm out of here!"

They spoke at the same time, turning in opposite directions, though one perhaps more quickly than the other.

"Hey... yeah... where's my little buddy?" Reno asked, frowning as he rubbed at the back of his neck again.

"Dead," Lyla said plainly, closing her computer and tucking it back into her bag, followed by her glasses, which returned to their home in the front pocket.

"Robots don't die," Reno said pointedly. "... of natural causes."

"Apparently they're allergic to having their heads crushed and being thrown into a snowbank. Go figure, right?"

Rude frowned at her, perhaps in disapproval of robotic murder, though if it was, he didn't come out and say so.

Rufus cleared his throat. "Well. ... at least we know we won't be leaving him behind."

Cid grumbled faintly as he downed the rest of his coffee, setting the cup aside on the nearest table before pulling his goggles down over his eyes. "Truth be told, not gonna miss him. I'll go get the ship warmed up. Got a long flight 'head of us."


	19. Chapter 19

The touchdown had gone relatively without incident, all things considered, as had the initial search and questioning. Now, though, a new problem had risen it's ugly head, and it had everyone on their proverbial edge.

It was hot.

Very, very hot.

No one had expected the trip to go on so long, or to span such distance, and as a result, it wasn't like they were exactly prepared. As such the group adjourned around 1pm when the blazing sun had been most unforgiving, and scattered in search of more suitable clothes.

Which had brought them to this point.

"Don't be so stubborn." Clarise sighed. "C'mooon."

"I'm not being stubborn," Lyla said pointedly, folding her arms as she gave the rack beside them a most critical look. "I'm more than happy - overjoyed, even - to help you shop for a swimsuit. I'm perfectly satisfied with finding a pair of shorts to wear."

"I don't need help." She frowned, gripping her own hips with indignance. "More to the point I'm not the one who needs help."

"I don't need help!" Lyla echoed, raising her eyebrows in alarm. "I don't need a swimsuit. I'm not going swimming. I'm here to do reconnaissance, this is important."

"Then just walk around in it."

Lyla gave her companion a doubting look. "I don't understand the point of that."

"What's not to understand?" She cocked her head, frown deepening slightly.

"I'm not planning on going swimming, or sunbathing, and I'm not here to attract male attention. I'm here to do a job," Lyla reminded her. "No one is going to take me seriously if I'm showing everything."

"What makes you think that isn't better?" The ginger arched a challenging eyebrow. "So you're just some tourist that heard there was a Sephiroth lookalike around. Doesn't that sound a whole lot less threatening than some hardcore scientist bitch in super tight leather pants maybe searching for a psychopath?"

"I'm not threatening," Lyla countered, almost petulant.

Clarise sighed, folding her arms. "It'll help." She said evenly.

"Help what?" She raised an eyebrow; there was a tone to her voice that suggested she was not quite so clueless as she was pretending to be.

The ginger raised her hands. "It'll help." She said again, more pointedly.

"I don't need help," the brunette said again. "I don't have anyone to impress."

Clarise cleared her throat, eyeing her fingernails.

"What?"

"Well." She chirped. "Who said it had to -be- for anybody?"

"... okay, fair, but what if there are people present who I -don't- want to see me mostly naked."

"Why should there be?" She frowned up at the taller woman. "Are you wearing huge, off-white fatty-concealing panties under that skin tight leather?"

She gave the shorter woman a critical look. "No. Look. There was just an incident in Icicle Inn that would make the swimsuit situation sort of uncomfortable right now."

"Oh?"

"Just a thing. It's not important. Can I please keep my clothes on?"

The smaller woman shifted her weight, sucking a breath in between her teeth. "Had a confession incident with the tortured half-vampire spook-hunter?"

Lyla winced. "It was on accident. I was muttering and he has super-hearing. Also, thin walls."

"Oh." She pressed her pale, pearly blue nails to her lips. "Oh, hunny. What happened? Did he say no?"

"Stopped dead and walked off without saying anything, actually," Lyla confessed, frowning. "And we haven't spoken today, not directly. Which is unusual. ... but it's alright, really, he doesn't seem like the dating type. And I really don't have time to date now. It's... the last thing on my mind. Seeing as I just learned that I'm a tube-grown biological weapon who is upsettingly linked to an infamous megalomaniac."

Clarise frowned at her for a moment, then waved a hand at her. "I'm pretty sure you need an orgasm harder than ever, actually."

Lyla groaned softly, covering her eyes with one hand. "I know. You're so right."

"Besides, that isn't a 'no.'" She said reasonably, turning her eye back onto the clothing rack beside them, one hand still raised in a dismissive gesture. "That's an 'I'm too much of a monster to deserve a hot science-babe.' It'll help."

Rather than lower her hand entirely, she spread her fingers to peer through them. "You really think that's what it was?"

"He does spend a lot of time giving off this 'I'm a horrible monster' vibe."

"We did have an extended conversation about how 'not human' he deems himself."

"Is it a lot?" She asked in rather a rushed tone.

"So very much," Lyla assured her, letting her hand drop away from her face.

"It'll help." She said again, holding up a small, green top thoughtfully.

Lyla eyed the top thoughtfully, letting out a defeated sigh a moment after. "Alright. I'm going to need a bigger cup size than that."

"Well not necessarily."

"... I'll try it on."

The smaller woman grinned in triumph, handing her the bikini with a slight flit before bounding off to search for her own.

* * *

If Rufus Shinra had any interest in swimming, it didn't show. Like so many of the others, he had gone in search of swimwear and settled for a snug pair of dark blue trunks and a pair of flip-flops. An expensive pair of sunglasses completed the ensemble, and he found himself quite content, stretched out in a previously occupied lounge chair that he had confiscated from its previous owner. "And I thought this was going to be nothing but work."

Cid had been making his way along the beach looking for information, though hadn't come up with much so far. He tromped his way across the sand in trunks and a tank top, having decided that it was unfair to his wife to show off his glorious chest muscles to hussies he barely knew. In truth, he burned easily. "'Ey Vin," he called as he neared his friend, "You find anything?"

Vincent looked up from the discarded paper he had been studying, giving his head a single, firm shake. If he had even remotely attempted to locate something to wear more appropriate for their setting, it had been a quick and dirty one that ended fruitless.

As it was, he peered at the pilot over his cowl. "Nothing of note."

The pilot squinted at his companion. "You gotta be meltin' inside that thing. At least take the cape off."

"It's fine," the gunman assured him absently, tossing the paper into a trash bin. "Either he hasn't shown, or we've just missed him."

"An' here I thought I'd get you to show us your pretty face," Cid grumped, though he grinned through it. "Well. Maybe we'll be unfortunate enough to run into 'im here. .. y'think we should tell Cloud?"

That caused them both pause. "After the incident last year?" He said after awhile.

Cid grimaced in reply. "... we could tell Tifa, just have him not go out on deliveries 'till we get this sorted out."

"Then she'll have to explain why."

"... alright. Or, how 'bout this. We take care of this ourselves, and don't tell Cloud."

"Do you think we have the man power?" Vincent asked, very seriously. Apparently he was not of the inclination to inform their once fearless leader, either.

"... maybe, since he's all befuddled and whatnot. Might be able to swing it," Cid said somewhat doubtfully. "... Reno an' Rude got game."

The dark man considered this. "I have to wonder if Lyla will be an ally or an enemy."

"Personally, I was hopin' the former," the pilot admitted, frowning faintly, "But who knows what bein' near him is gonna do to her. Y'remember what happened to Cloud, an' all."

"Mn." Vincent nodded, cradling his chin for a moment. "There was an incident... with Rei, as well."

"... yeah. Yeah, you mentioned that. ... shame, figure she'd be good manpower t'have on our side, but if she can't control it and don't know how to use it, just gonna get herself hurt, an' other people too. Not that I don't like the girl. I do. I'm jus' sayin', bit of a tight spot." Cid paused to tap some loose ash off of his cigarette and into the sand.

"Still." The gunman turned to survey the beach. "It might be feasible, if we gear up."

"You an' I ain't exactly pushovers, either," Cid added, turning to follow his friend's gaze. "We've got us, an' the Turks at least. Maybe the doc if she can get a grip. Rufus is a damn good shot but not as mobile as the rest of us still. Maybe his secretary's got some tricks up her sleeve."

"Why wouldn't that shock me."

"Shinra employees, etcetera?" Cid offered, shielding his eyes with his hand to look down the length of the beach.

Lyla adjusted her sarong as she and Clarise descended the short stairway that lead from the town to the beach, the cobblestone in the steps the same color as the sand that had spilled over them. "Well, you were right about one thing. Gathering information would be easy in this. Sadly no one has had any to give, only phone numbers."

The ginger tittered, tugging at the strap on her small, stringy bit-cover. "Guess that means there's nothing to hear yet."

Lyla glanced over, looking down the line of her nose at the shorter woman from behind a large pair of sunglasses. "Hopefully that'll change soon, we need a lead."

"He's headed this way, right?" Clarise shrugged, frowning. "Maybe we beat him. We have the airship, you know?"

"It was just an educated guess, but it seemed so, yes. Maybe we did," Lyla conceded slowly. "... which I suppose means we can relax for a day or so while we wait to see or catch word of him."

"Probably wouldn't kill the lot of you." Clarise offered, turning to scan the beach. "Oh! Hey! Dragul is here! Turns out he doesn't melt in the heat. That's kinna nifty."

Lyla followed the line of Clarise's gaze and frowned slightly, tipping her glasses down to peer over them. "He's still wearing the cape? You think he would at least lose that to deal with the heat, there's nothing wrong with his face."

The smaller woman blinked at her curiously.

The brunette looked back, slightly confused by Clarise's expression. "Hm?"

"Is there something wrong with the rest of him?"

Lyla gave her a questioning look, then nodded after a brief moment, just once. "Scars," she said faintly.

"Oh." She frowned, turning again. "He shouldn't worry about that. Lots of people are scarred up these days."

"It's bad," Lyla informed her, vaguely wondering if it was an invasion of Vincent's privacy to tell. "I wouldn't want to show them, either, if I were him. ... though he could stand to wear something lighter than leather at least, he probably -will- melt at this rate."

Clarise wrinkled her nose. "Oh." She said simply. "Well. You should probably prance by him."

Lyla froze. "I don't prance."

"Walk?"

"By myself?"

"You want me to come for moral support?"

"It's less of a want and more of a need."

"Okay," she agreed cheerily. "But you have to walk on his side."

"Alright. I can do that," Lyla told her with a certain degree of uncertainty, drawing in a sharp breath as she began the foreboding walk along the beach.

"Lookit, if you want we can talk about something." The ginger offered. "Got a topic in mind?"

"We should be talking about the issue of Sephiroth," Lyla pointed out, "Unless you have any better ideas."

"Maybe you should try a sort of hunter green. It would look nice with your eyes."

"What, what are we talking about."

"Not the thing that wants to kill us."

"... okay. Uh, thank you for the advice, I'll... keep it in mind?" Lyla attempted as they continued along.

Clarise laughed. "You really suck at this." She noted.

"I know. I'm not very good at small talk. Too much of the past two years was spent cooped up in a lab talking about work. I don't remember how to do much else, I've been working so hard to advance," Lyla admitted. "I do like hunter green."

The ginger smiled at her. "I'm used to it." She said blithely. "Don't worry. It's just- you're going to make yourself nuts, you know? If you don't give yourself a little break from all the stress. I mean, if it's not guys trying to kill you, it's guys trying to kill themselves, or this tube thing, or crushing robots... just relax, a little, you know? And it compliments your hair, I bet."

Lyla gave her a grateful, if tired, smile. "I can relax. It's just taking a few minutes to remember how, really. Okay. Relaxing. And blue looks nice on you."

Clarise beamed. "Thank you." She chirped.

Vincent, now well within the range of hearing, cast Cid a confused look.

Cid cast his friend an equally puzzled look, though his gaze did wander towards the pair as they got closer.

Lyla discreetly adjusted her sunglasses so that they sat atop the bridge of her nose as they were meant to. "So, have you been sent to fetch lattes yet?" she asked with a smirk.

"Not yet. Are they heinous?" She chuckled. "They can't be worse than his dad's coffees."

"I heard Reno complain about soy and skim milk once, but they don't sound too awful. Just pretentious," Lyla offered.

Cid offered Vincent another Look, raising an eyebrow.

Clarise tittered again. "Well that fits, anyway. Maybe they won't be hard to remember."

"I would complain about how I miss the days of coffee being just coffee, but to be honest," Lyla confessed, "Pretentious coffee is delicious."

"But soy?" The shorter woman wrinkled her nose.

"... okay, yes, gross."

Vincent frowned back at the aviator, his even expression colored with mild confusion.

Cid took a long, even drag of his cigarette, watching both women as they passed.

Lyla glanced towards Clarise as though seeking some note of approval as they continued to walk. "Well, your new boss is just down the beach. You might get your first errand yet."

A wide smile met her, and she checked over her shoulder in time to watch Vincent turn his head away. "Wow. Exciting. Will that make me like, part of the club?"

Lyla smiled plainly in reply. "It will mean you're the whipping girl for the hottest boss a girl could ask for. Any complaints?"

Clarise grinned. "Not yet. Not a one."

"I have no idea what just happened." Vincent said quietly.

"It would seem," Cid began, pausing to exhale a stream of smoke, "That the only females in our ensemble jus' walked by us in revealin' swimwear."

"Did they." Vincent frowned, picking up to head for the bar. "I hadn't noticed."

"Y-yeah. I figured you hadn't," Cid fumbled as he turned to follow the caped man, cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "So. She's..." He squinted one eye, searching for the word that was least likely to get him struck by lightning. "Pretty."

Lyla glanced back over her shoulder. "They're gone."

"He watched. For pretty much ever." There was a note of smug in the small ginger's tone.

"Did he look confused or interested?" Lyla asked, turning to face forward again and fidgeting slightly with the knot of her sarong.

"Sort of hard to tell under the cloak... dealie. But it's probably the same thing to a guy like him."

"Okay. Well. That's all well and good, then," Lyla began, "Though I still don't know how I'm going to talk to him again. ... you weren't there. It was -really- embarrassing."

"Well. Maybe that's good!"

"'Horrifying' and 'good' are hardly ever the same thing, you know," Lyla pointed out. "But maybe you were right with the 'oh god I'm a monster' call."

"Preeetty much looks like the type."

"Mhm. Ah," Lyla interrupted herself as they neared the chair that Rufus had stretched himself out in, "If it isn't his majesty."

Down the beach, Vincent's only response to the aviator was, "I suppose."

"I'll buy your first few drinks, get ya started," Cid offered. "... hey, it's not too late, y'could probably take back whatever awful thing happened last night an' still work somethin' out. Mr. 'She's Not My Girlfriend.'"

"She's not. What are we talking about." Vincent flatlined.

"Nothin'," Cid told him offhandedly, "Jus' sayin'. I saw you lookin'. Pretty much forever."

"It was strange." he muttered.

Cid cast a sidelong glance at his friend as they neared the bar. "On account of she's usually wearin' clothes?"

"Their conversation." Vincent said tightly.

Cid flashed Vincent his most innocent smile, which was to say not very. "Sounded like the redhead was in the lead there."

"Mn." Vincent mned dispassionately.

He needed a drink.

Or a million of them.

Elsewhere, Clarise was stifling a chuckle.

"C'mon, c'mon," Cid urged as they entered the bar itself, the cool blast of the air conditioning welcome after the sweltering heat outside. "I'm buyin'."

The gunman offered him a glance that was likely appreciative in whatever primarily mentally-based language Vincent spoke. Then he slipped past him into the bar.

Cid tromped his way across the bar to a pair of open stools, not bothering to spare any of the scantily clad women (or men, for that matter) around them the slightest glance. Sliding into his seat, he nodded to the barkeep. "Two of the house beer, thanks."

Vincent sat beside him, all the grace and dignity that shouldn't have been available to a man in metal shoes. And leaned on the bar with a soft, muddled noise.

Cid slid one of the mugs towards his friend once the bartender had set it down, staring down into his own drink and contemplating the suds. "I wanna ask ya if yer okay, but men aren't s'posed to talk about their feelin's."

The gunman snorted softly. "I'm fine, Cid." He assured his friend, taking a long drink before he spoke again. "Just tired."

"Yeah, yeah. Heard it before," Cid said dismissively, tipping his mug back. "Shera n' I worry 'bout you, can't help it."

"I'm older than you, Cid." Vincent reminded him wryly. "I can take care of myself."

"Y'might be, but I'm not convinced 'bout the latter. I know ya got your share of stuff to be miserable 'bout, more than your share, really. Don't mean we can't be concerned. Friends do that, y'know. Maybe y'never realized," Cid pointed out.

Vincent eyed the aviator for a moment, taking another drink before he talked again. "I do. There's just... no reason to be. But I do." He sat back. "...Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Anytime. ... so tell me this," Cid went on, pausing to take another drink. "Why're you bein' stupid? Y'know I read ya like a book. Y'know I was jus' tryin' to get you t'realize there's a nice girl who likes ya back at Icicle Inn, righ'?"

The gaunt man sighed, and for another beat they drank in silence. "Do you really think that's a good idea?" He said after awhile.

"Dunno. D'you really think ignorin' it is a good idea?" Cid countered. "Shit, maybe it'll be all fucked up an' maybe it won't, but yer life is never gonna change unless y'take chances on stuff. I think y'might smile a little bit more if y'did. An' I know you ain't got much reason to. I can't know what you've been though but I understan' how awful y'feel alla the time. I don' think it would kill ya to do somethin' y'might enjoy."

Vincent shifted, his frown pulling at the edges until he glanced away. Blinking owlishly at the fading foam that clung to the edges of his mug's inside. "I don't have a life." He said after awhile, his jaw oddly stiff. "There's nothing to change. This is... the way things are meant to be."

The clink of glass seemed to echo in the noisy tavern as the gunman set his mug down. "She has her own troubles. She needs no part of mine."

"You don't have a life cause you won't let yerself have one, Vin," Cid said firmly, draining the last of his beer and nodding to the barkeep for a second round. "Yer punishin' yerself. An' I get it, I do. I jus' think you're so busy hurtin' that you think it's okay to do that to yerself forever. And it ain't."

It was curious, really, when Vincent thought about it, that they had managed to avoid this conversation for as long as they had. Lack of stimulus, he supposed. Though he had to wonder how long it had been on the pilot's mind.

And yet, suspecting the answer wasn't going to be of much use to either of them, the gunman asked. "Why not, Cid."

"... I don' know. It just ain't right." The pilot frowned, averting his eyes and pretending to be far more interested in his beer than the conversation. "No one deserves to be miserable forever."

"I won't be." He said quietly.

"What's gonna change that?"

Vincent hesitated, frowning into his second beer as he took it from the table. "Someday it will be enough."

"When's that?" Cid grumped, tipping back the fresh drink the barkeep had brought him. "When yer dead for real?"

"Yes."

The pilot winced. "Yeah. Yeah, sounds like you."

He sighed, taking a long drink. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I woulda figured it out anyway. M'not dumb," Cid pointed out. "I can read you."

"I'm sure you've known for a long time." Vincent offered him a wry look, then turned his attention to his beer. "We've just never said it before. ...With good reason, I guess."

"Yeah, I knew," the pilot admitted grudgingly, looking up to frown at his friend. "Not somethin' I ever wanted to talk about. But it was gettin' hard not t'say anything. Hard t'watch."

"Sorry." He muttered, aware it had been a long time since he'd apologized so much.

"So this's how it's gonna be?"

Vincent arched a curious brow at his friend.

"Just countin' down the days till ya die," Cid went on to explain.

"I'm not planning on killing myself." He pointed out flatly.

"I know you ain' gonna do it yourself. Just feels like s'all you're lookin' forward to sometimes."

"I don't... know." He admitted, sitting back on the stool with a mild frown. "I guess I never considered that much."

"Probably never would unless someone spelled it out."

The gunman smirked, taking a drink of his beer. "Mn."

"Maybe think on that a bit," Cid suggested, tipping his mug back again.

"Alright." He agreed evenly.

The pilot smiled, if wryly. "Good talk."

"Good talk." Vincent echoed, finishing off his second beer. Just a little too quickly.

"Takin' off?" the blonde asked, lifting his head slightly.

His smirk hitched a notch wider. "When you're buying? Not yet."

The pilot grinned, signaling to the barkeep. "'Nother round, sir."

* * *

Rufus tipped his sunglasses down his nose, peering up at the pair of approaching women over the rim. "Good afternoon, ladies. You're standing in my light."

The small woman shifted slightly, as if to scoot out of the way without actually taking a step, then peered down the expanse of beach. "No turks." She noted. "Odd."

"They're out there," Rufus drawled, setting his shades back in their proper place, gesturing lazily towards the water. "Splashing around like imbeciles."

Lyla took a step to the right and leaned back to peer at the ocean around Clarise, smirking faintly when she saw Reno squeeze both hands to squirt a stream of water at his partner.

Rude took a few steps back, centering himself before using the bulk of his arm to create a very small tidal wave.

"Well," Clarise grinned lopsidedly. "No better way to cool off around here, right?"

"I don't know," Rufus mused aloud, "I think I would settled for an iced latte and being fanned by a pair of attendants."

Lyla raised a brow. "And I wonder where you would find the latter."

"In the larger hotels here, they're included in the price of the suite," he countered with a smirk. "Though I saw you weren't willing to spring for that even on Ingram's dime."

"Seriously?" Clarise offered Lyla a mildly surprised look. "I'd use it for as much as it was worth, hunny. What exactly's stopping you?"

"The credit limit," Lyla said pointedly. "I'm milking it as long as I can, but it's going to run out eventually, and I'm thinking a few more outrageous charges on the bill will be a real kick in the ass."

The ginger giggled into her slim, painted fingers. "That's good, too." She said brightly. "You know what's really expensive and useless? Well. Besides lacy underwear?" Clarise spread her hands to smile. "The Golden Saucer games."

A slow smirk began to spread across the brunette's face. "I was thinking a little of both. ... we should go to the Gold Saucer. Soon."

Clarise offered her a benign smile, then peered around Lyla's back to catch a curious glimpse of the president. She wasn't entirely certain she cared for his opinion at the moment, but it seemed a good thing to know, in either case.

"I like Wonder Square," Rufus said plainly. "We should go."

"Settles that then." The small woman trilled. "Too bad it wont make each charge separately, really. That would be annoying as hell. Hm."

"The kicker is that he doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to the bills," Lyla went on in an almost lamenting fashion, folding her arms and shifting slightly. "Though it'll be hard to ignore when I start adding up bounced charges and his phone rings off the hook."

"Truly devious," Rufus said, sounding somewhat disinterested as he flicked a stray bit of hair away from his glasses.

Clarise smiled warmly. "It's the little annoyances. They're not much on their own, but if you can think of enough, they can drive a person over the edge eventually."

Rufus tipped his glasses down his nose again and lifted his head to look out towards where Reno and Rude were continuing to assault each other with water. "I wouldn't know," he said flatly.

"Oh. That seems harsh." She crossed her arms absently, following the line of his gaze.

He looked up at her and smirked. "All in good fun, Ms. Kaht."

The ginger turned her smile up a notch, omitting any comment she had about truer words and jest. "Next time you want to destroy someone, I suggest letting their cat out while they're at work, letting a tire go flat on the same day as a ticket, ruining their credit, and causing the sprinkler system to go off at their work. See if they don't throw themselves off the bridge."

"I always preferred my adventures in ruination to be a bit more flashy," Rufus confessed, leaning back in his chair. "But I'll have to keep that in mind. It may be worth trying."

"I'm going to wander off that way, I think," Lyla suggested, more to Clarise than to the president. "See if I pick up any information back in town."

She waved her hands encouragingly. "Try the bar." She offered, then glanced over her shoulder. "The upside of small things is watching them get to a person. Don't bother if you're not going to watch, you know?" The small woman shifted her weight thoughtfully. "Sometimes you can ruin a marriage, too. Which I suppose isn't small, but also untraceable under the right circumstances."

"I'd resist, but bartenders see everyone who comes through a town like this, just about," Lyla conceded as she turned her back, looking over her shoulder to wave. "Have fun, I'll let you know if we find a new lead."

Rufus nodded after Lyla as she departed, turning his attention to Clarise with a smirk as he removed his glasses entirely. "Do you say that having experience with ruining marriages, Ms. Kaht?"

"If I say yes will you think less of me?" She asked, one brow quirking curiously.

"No. You don't have to tell me the details, after all. Many beautiful women have ruined marriages without lifting a finger," he explained casually, expression oddly benign.

"Oh. I had to spend about 500gil, but it was worth it, in the end." She said absently, ruffling her long hair.

"Sounds like a story worth hearing sometime," he told her, arching a brow.

"I'm full of those, from a certain viewpoint." She admitted, cocking her head.

"How very interesting. Perhaps you could tell me over a latte at some point. Which, by the way," he went on without skipping a beat, settling his glasses back onto his face, "I'd like one."

Clarise smirked, glancing over at him for a beat. "Well. You'll have to tell me what you want. I don't want it thrown on me."

He smiled at that, stretching out and crossing one leg over the other. "I would never be so crass. Only send it back. Unsweetened cinnamon soy latte with skim milk."

"Ooh. Like Christmas in a cup." She murmured, turning on one foot in the soft white sand as she made her way up the incline towards the coffee shops.

"Responsive," Rufus remarked to himself as he settled in to get comfortable again. "I like that."


	20. Chapter 20

Vincent was half way through beer four before conversation returned to the normal route of bad TV and old war-stories. He had just begun to forget how irate he'd been when one of the many sources made itself manifest.

Cid had just reached the bottom of his fourth beer when he saw the cause of Vincent's drinking habit walk through the front door. She hadn't seemed to notice them yet, making her way across the bar to lean against the counter at the other end, saying something to get the bartender's attention and giving him an inviting smile as he approached. Cid coughed, suddenly having lost all interest in the suds at the bottom of his glass.

"Hey, I gotta go use the little aviator's room," he told his friend. "I'll... be right back." That said, he indiscreetly hurried out the front door.

"Al-" Vincent paused, watching his friend's sudden retreat. "...Right?" He blinked, checking over his shoulder before visibly flattening. "Cid." He muttered as though the name were a curse.

The red of his cowl caught the corner of her eye as she paused in her conversation with the bartender; she looked over, only for a moment, before seeming to startle and avert her eyes, turning another bright smile up for the man before the bar as he eyed her up and down, leaning in to answer her question, or at least, she hoped he would.

The gunman watched the pair of them discreetly, punctuating the action with a drink here and there. Recon, likely. He wondered why it set him on edge. Of course she was here. A bartender as a source was logical. To be expected.

Lyla's expression seemed to darken slightly, as though the barkeep's response hadn't lived up to her expectations. "That's not what I asked you," she said evenly, tone perfectly neutral. She brightened some, though it took effort. "You'll let me know if you hear anything, though?"

"I haven't seen your man," the bartender replied, slightly soured. "But I'll let you know if I do. Here." He slid a napkin and a pen across the counter. "Write down your number, honey."

"Mhm," was the distracted response as she did so, scribbling the quick series of numbers across the napkin as neatly as she could manage. "Please do."

Vincent arched a brow. Somehow, he had expected her to know better.

And, as though on cue, she turned to head back towards the exit, and her disgusted expression showed that yes, she did indeed know better.

Vincent almost laughed. Almost.

She slowed her pace as she neared him on her way out, pausing for a brief moment and, as much as she would have liked to avoid contact for just a little bit longer, she decided it was too rude to walk past without saying anything. Drawing in a sharp breath, she made her way over, surveying the empty barstool next to him. "No Cid?" she dared to ask.

"Apostate." He said simply, gesturing towards the empty seat in invitation.

She couldn't help smirking at his response, eyeing the seat warily before hesitantly helping herself to it. "I'm sort of hoping that bartender calls me to meet him so I can punch him in the face," she confessed. "Too much time spent with Clarise already."

"Wouldn't have pegged her for the punching type." He said, nursing his beer.

"I think she's a slapper," Lyla conceded, facing forward to avoid looking at him.

"Mn." He agreed, following her motion. "Those hurt." He added after a moment, absently.

"They do," she agreed, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "... recent experience?"

"Not recent." Vincent glanced up, then down again. He was going to kill you, Cid. Just... shove you right off the Shera. It would be poetic justice.

The tension was getting to her, and quickly. She considered ordering something to drink, but that would only prolong the awkwardness. After a moment, she began to slide off her stool, hands against the bar to steady herself. "I can go," she told him softly, apologetic.

The gunman shook his head, getting easily to his feet. "Let me. You've worked all this time."

"You were here first," she insisted with a faint shake of her head, finally turning to look at him.

Vincent nodded. That had been sort of his point, yes.

The brunette winced, pressing the heel of her left hand to her forehead. "This is stupid," she muttered. "Could you be convinced to... forget what happened?"

"What happened." He muttered, sliding back onto the stool, signaling for another beer with some singular determination.

She frowned, leaning one hip against the bar, elbow resting atop it. "Good enough," she murmured in reply.

"No luck, I take it." He offered by way of easy subject change.

"No, unfortunately," she told him, frowning slightly. "Which I would assume means we beat him here... if he really is heading this way. It falls in line with the rest of his stops."

Vincent frowned, leaning on the bar again. "I wonder if there's any method to it." He rasped. "Where is he headed."

"Looking for something. Someone, maybe," Lyla reasoned, her frown deepening slightly. "It's a someone. ... he wants to find Cloud. He's obsessed."

"Even in this state." The gunman agreed, a note of exasperation in his tone. Then he looked up, finding Lyla's face again.

Not that he was one to discuss obsession, he supposed. As though he had some solid ground to stand on.

"... he doesn't know where to look," she told him, her hands finding each other and fidgeting slightly, uncomfortable. "... if he gets close enough, he might feel him. I don't know. But as long as he's wandering blind, we have some time." Her hands moved upwards quite without her say so, resting on her upper arms, hugging herself, carefully. "He's not here yet, but he's close."

Vincent watched it with calm eyes, though his mouth twitched down. "Lyla." He said when she'd stopped speaking, his voice a low murmur among the hushed din of people all around.

"Not the place," she told him quickly, looking downward. "But I can't make it stop."

He eyed his drink for a moment before speaking again. "All the time?"

"Since he woke up," she admitted quietly. "All the time."

"Then." Vincent watched the door. "Without checking. Without theories. You already knew... to come here."

"He didn't say. He's not - not thinking of places in specific, he's... following a feeling. ... I felt the pull here. But I didn't trust it. I put my faith in logic instead, it was comforting. ... but you're right, he's coming here. ... I knew to come here," she confessed, eyes fixed on the floor.

The gunman's red, garnet eyes lingered at the entrance, his words measured as his expression ever was. "But not four years ago. Or two. Only now." It was a question, though somehow it hardly sounded like one.

"Then, too," she told him, her tone slow, halting. "Quieter then. Nightmares and other things. I didn't know it for what it was then. Masqueraded under a different name." She glanced upwards. "Schizophrenia. ... what all the pills are for."

He was quiet for what felt like a long time, human fingers loose around the handle of his mug. "And when you were a child."

"Bad dreams," she answered softly. "And monsters in the closet."

"I wonder what he called them, when his thoughts were filled with yours." There was a certain sadness to the words, a tone as if some physical pain waited in the thought.

Vincent looked down at the beer as he drank from it, abandoning the door lest someone slip through it under his guard.

"I never knew who he was. Never understood any of it. Wonder if it was the same for him." She turned so that she leaned her front against the bar, both arms resting along the edge.

"Impossible to know." Vincent's voice was low and rasping, slow as though it tumbled slowly though his thoughts. "There's so little left to ask... if there was any to begin."

"Mn." She buried her face in her hands, sliding them upwards to press the heels against her eyes. "... I want to learn to shut it off."

"Throw the pills away."

"Yeah. ... never did do me any good, did they."

"You can't build mental walls with something changing your thoughts behind your back. You'll need full control."

"I'll get rid of them," she promised, pausing before turning her face to look at him over the curve of her hand. "I'm scared, Vincent."

The gunman returned her glance, nodding once. "It's scary." He told her, softly. "But there's more than just you and the darkness, now."

"I know," she replied, straightening somewhat. "You'll help."

Vincent opened his mouth, then looked down. "Yes." He agreed. "But I'm not... the only one."

She looked away again, distant as her gaze traveled across the bar, letting out a short, bitter laugh in reply. "Yes, the others are so concerned."

"They don't understand." He said quietly. "It isn't the same."

"I know," she told him without looking back. "I don't hold it against them. It's not their problem, it's mine. ... I don't expect anything. Just feel terribly... alone."

He hesitated then, eyes falling to the metallic gleam of his left hand. "You're not." He said simply.

She grimaced, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand and murmuring something indistinct under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "You're wonderful."

He reached to touch the hand pressed against her face, but the flash of metal caught his eye and he dropped it away, suddenly self conscious.

She went rigid for a moment, forcing herself to look back, lowering her own hands. "... does your arm not work?" she asked faintly, curious as the claw had neared her face and then retreated.

"It...does." He murmured into the polished wood of the bar. "Well enough."

Something in his tone caused her to edge an inch back, suddenly very interested in the grain of the wood she was leaning against. "I won't ask any more about it."

He shook his head. "It's fine." the gunman said, and despite the infuriatingly even tone, the edge of sincerity crept into his words.

She glanced back, looking at him over her shoulder. "Is it for fighting, then? Or... something else? ... the glove."

Vincent nodded, holding the arm up for her inspection. "Fighting," he agreed. "And... cover."

She looked it over with reserved interest, her expression as blank as she could make it. "... scarred like the rest?"

"...Something... like that." He agreed, closing the human hand over his clawed one as he lowered them to the bar.

"It's worse," she guessed, blindly tracing a slow pattern atop the bar with her index finger.

"I was a project, not a creation." He said evenly. "Incomplete."

She shifted uneasily, eyes once again finding the grain of the bar. "I don't care, you know."

Vincent blinked at her, uncomprehending.

She forced herself to look up as she pushed herself away from the bar, turning to step away from it. "About the scars," she explained, tucking her hair behind her ears before scooting the barstool back towards the counter. "I'll send Cid back if I see him," she finished, heading for the door and disappearing through it a moment later, without noticing the silver phone left behind on the bar.


	21. Chapter 21

It was a long time before Vincent decided he'd had enough, though the rest of the afternoon had left him in blessed, surrounded solitude. None of the tavern's patrons, it seemed, felt brave enough to breach the empty stool on either of his sides, nor intrude upon him until long after the sun had begun to set and darkness crept over the white sands that lapped the door.

It was then that he paid for what Cid had not, and turned to leave. But the small, miserably lonesome flash from the bar caught his attention with the movement. The gunman frowned, reaching out to take it in his good hand.

The phone beeped faintly, complaining of messages long unchecked. And despite his better judgment, Vincent flipped it open to see who had been trying to reach her.

The list was made up of a single name, repeating itself over and over, as though repeating itself would get someone's attention. 31 missed calls, all from him. The list of unread text messages was even longer, an unbroken stream of 'Dad.'

The gunman frowned, scrolling slowly down the long line of messages.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

He closed the phone with a snap, tucking it away as he turned for the door.

The morning would find it on Lyla's bedstand, as if it had never been missing at all, but in the mean time, Vincent had something to do.

* * *

It was somewhat later in Junon than in Costa del Sol, but sleep was the last thing on Dr. Caraway's mind. Every light in the house had been left on, dinner sat on a nearby table, cold and unfinished, as he sat on the sofa, TV droning in the background, his focus entirely on the phone in his hands.

Ring.

Please ring.

The doorbell answered before the phone, sending a small, electric chime through the apartments.

The doctor jumped, startled, phone slipping from his hands and landing so that it perched between two of the couch cushions. He quickly moved to his feet, running fingers through his unkempt and graying hair in an attempt to make himself somewhat more presentable even as he went to open the door.

"... oh. Hello."

The darkness outside concealed the most of his face in shadows, but even under the yellowing streetlamps there was no mistaking the bloody sweep of Vincent's cloak. He nodded when the large man appeared in the doorframe.

"Dr. Caraway."

"I can't say that I was expecting you. ... please, come in," the graying man said after a moment, weary, though genuine in his hospitality, standing aside to usher Vincent in.

The gunman stepped just inside obligingly, waiting until the door had closed to speak again. It was a moment before he realized he had no idea how to breach the subject he had come to discuss.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Caraway asked cautiously, appraising his guest with reserve. "Mr. Valentine."

If the sound of his name from the scientist's lips startled him, the former AVALANCHE operative failed to show it. He only lowered his head slightly, inclining it the better to see his host. "I came to tell you that she's safe, for now." He said in a low, even tone. "And to ask about Prometheus and Pandora."

"I see." His face was overcome with relief, gratitude. "I'll answer what I can. Come in, sit down," Caraway directed, walking back to the main room and pausing to switch off the television before easing himself into a seat on the sofa.

This time Vincent hesitated before following, the reservation across his elegant features easily hidden. "They're mentally linked," he said, taking a perching seat across from the doctor. "How?"

"It wasn't planned," Caraway confessed, a frown pulling at his mouth and causing the lines around his eyes to become more defined somehow. Tired. "Not what Gast and I... had intended. But Hojo, Shinra thought he was brilliant. They thought he was bold... he was crazy. We knew by then, seeing what he allowed to be done to his own son, and what he did himself. Many projects have Jenova in their makeup, but not like they do. Their makeup is the almost the same, with only one variation. The reason for their link is... not scientific, but mystical. Jenova herself is responsible. ... I don't think Hojo planned for it, either, despite his desire for them to be..."

"To be..." Vincent prompted, eyebrows raising.

"Prometheus and Pandora are sibling projects," Caraway explained, his expression darkening. "Hojo wanted them to be a mating pair. Perhaps to see what sort of super soldier the two of them would make. ... maybe just for fun."

An image of Rei sprung, unbidden, into Vincent's mind. He lowered his head.

"Sounds like him."

Caraway frowned, lowering his own head in turn. "I took her when I found out."

But, never having met, the link endured. It connected them through the cycles of life and death. It anchored them together, now.

Vincent didn't mention it. He didn't know what he could say, and there was no way for Dr. Caraway to explain in greater detail something he did not understand, himself.

The gunman frowned. Mystical means. One more bridge that could only be crossed on faith.

He had to admit, he'd had about enough of those.

"We thought we were doing something right. Good for the planet," Caraway went on, voice rising to well above the murmur it had started out at. "Gast and I. We never wanted to let them be used. You know well what was done to Sephiroth. Hojo was favored by the company, having given them their great prodigy. ... allowed to roam free. Everyone turned a blind eye when he hunted Gast down and killed him. Took his wife and child and turned them into experiments. ... she was the last component to the Pandora Project, Ilfalna Faremis. I wanted to set them free, too. Couldn't get close. But Pandora was my project, too. I saved who I could. ... resigned. Got a man killed in the process." His frown deepened. "No good deed goes unpunished."

"You saved more than just your daughter." Vincent's expression was cool, even.

"By keeping them apart," Caraway finished.

He nodded.

He looked up, each movement slow, cautious. "... is she really alright? Things had... been getting worse, lately. ... I didn't know how to help her."

The gunman glanced up. Somehow, the information didn't surprise him. Not now knowing that Sephiroth was rebuilding, and who knew for how long. He had been complete- or, nearly so, when they arrived.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder if they had come earlier than Jenova had intended.

Aloud he only said, "Upset. ...overwhelmed. But alright. Processing."

"I never wanted to lie to her," Caraway explained, his gaze very decidedly elsewhere. "Only wanted to keep her safe. From Hojo and anything else. To him, she was just a project, same as his son. He never saw them as people."

"I'm not sure he saw anyone as people, Dr. Caraway."

"All animals to cut open and play with." He looked back to the man in red. "I thought he had only killed you. I'm sorry to see that he made you a toy instead."

"I wrote my own dirge." Vincent said quietly, rising to his feet. "Thank you for your help."

"I'm only sorry I can't do more." He rose to his feet as well, prepared to show his guest out. "Valentine," he said again, hesitating. "Do me a favor and look after her?"

The lank man paused in the doorway, turning to meet the Doctor's tired eyes. He nodded once, deliberately, wondering how reassuring the promise of a corpse could be.

"The best I can."

"I appreciate it," the doctor replied, smiling faintly, exhausted. "Thank you... for letting me know."

He nodded again, making his way outside. It was a long trip back to Costa Del Sol.

* * *

Cid had never made his return to the bar, having left money enough for the first four rounds on the counter before heading out, trusting Vincent could handle the rest if he had stayed and continued to drink. Which, knowing Vincent, Cid figured he would. But now it was late. Late enough the bar would be closing down soon, and Vincent was the only one of their number who had not appeared at the hotel. And so Cid had made himself comfortable in the lobby, arms folded, feet propped up on an expensive-looking coffee-table. Waiting.

"Boy needs a fuckin' curfew."

"Reno?" Came the serene guess from somewhere to his left. Vincent raised an eyebrow with dry mirth.

The voice startled him enough to make him drop his cigarette, which he quickly jumped up to stamp out. "Leapin' fuckin' giant-ass lizards, don't go sneakin' up on me like that. Where've you been at? Didn't think you'd stay at that place 'til last call. Had no one to grouse about Shinra with while y'were gone."

There was a queer expression on the gunman's face. One almost like wicked amusement. He snorted softly, sinking into the seat beside Cid with practiced ease. "I had an errand to run."

"Doesn't soun' like it was the fun kind. Also, noticed you didn't bring any beer back, so must've been a crappy errand," the pilot surmised.

"I've had funner."

"Ya gonna tell me or do I hafta pry it outta ya?"

He shifted enough to fold his arms. "I wanted to ask Dr. Caraway about Prometheus."

"He got anything useful to say?" Cid asked with genuine curiosity, settling back into his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not particularly." There was the faintest edge of regret in the man's even tone. "But he cleared up one thing. ...Whatever links Lyla and Sephiroth isn't measurable."

"Great. That's comfortin'," the pilot drawled, frowning. "Why don' you just buy a phone, you crazy bastard. Coulda jus' called him to learn nothin' instead of goin' all the way to Junon."

Vincent gave him a long, cool look. "Yuffie wouldn't stop calling it."

"Don' give her the number. Would be nice to reach you inna pinch, y'know."

"Mn." he mned, nodding. "I'll consider that."

"No y'won't, but that's alright." The blonde stretched his arms over his head, cracking his back before pulling another cigarette and his lighter out of his front pocket. "So no idea how long we're gonna be waitin' for Sephiroth to turn up."

"Soon." Vincent murmured, watching the motions with mild interest. He had considered picking up the habit, here and there, if only for the calming aspect of having something to occupy his hands. But in the end, one vice was more than enough.

"That's nice an' specific," Cid remarked as he lit up, pausing to take a long drag off his cigarette. "That Rei was like havin' a homing device with us, 'cept she was all narrowly focused and not really helpful. But coulda been with some persuasion. Seemed to be adjustin' alright."

"We'll find her." The gunman frowned. "She won't be far behind Sephiroth."

And part of him balked when he'd almost said 'her father.'

"Yeah. Figured she'd be trailin' after him, whenever he turns up."

"At least we know for sure he's headed this way."

"Think those articles make it a sure thing?" the pilot asked before a long exhale of smoke.

"No. But Lyla's nightmares do."

"Whatcha talkin'?" Cid asked, arching a brow.

"She's like Rei." Vincent frowned, looking over at his friend. "Not as clear. But connected."

"Sounds unpleasant," the pilot told him decidedly.

The gunman nodded his stoic agreement.

Cid took another drag before putting his cigarette out in the potted plant beside them, the soil around which was already dotted with a number of white-and-tan stubs. "Think I'll turn in. Late for an old man like me," he snorted.

"Don't break a hip on the stairs."

Cid laughed loudly as he made his way across the lobby, offering a salute over his shoulder. "Don't bust a lung on your way up, either."

Vincent snorted, but he was smiling, under the cowl.


	22. Chapter 22

The morning took it's time in coming, although the roving chocobos in the area wasted no time heralding it in. Clarise was up before wark number 12, glowering absently into a cup of coffee that was too dark to have much milk in it.

Lyla rubbed at her temples as she descended the stairs, taking a sharp turn at the bottom to slowly make her way to the dining area. She paused in the doorway when she saw a familiar head of ginger hair, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. Stifling a yawn, she approached the table and helped herself to a seat near Clarise, immediately reaching for the nearby carafe of coffee. "Morning."

"Is it?" She yawned then, setting the mug down with a faint clack. "You seem cheerful."

"Do I?" the brunette asked, blinking a few times in rapid succession. "Maybe just because I'm not glaring at my coffee like I want to stab it. I'm... alright. Fine."

"So not fine."

She paused with her mug halfway to her lips, raising a brow at Clarise over its rim. "Fine enough," she said simply. "How did running errands for his majesty go yesterday? There was a noticeable lack of shirt. I'm guessing pleasant."

"Sometimes it's worth it." She said vaguely, not bothering to specify any of the objects or descriptors in the thought. "What's your plan today, hm?"

"More waiting, I think," Lyla confessed, taking a long sip before setting her mug down with a soft clink. "I got all the information out of the locals I'm going to, probably. Not hard to do. There's been nothing to see. ... we wait for him to show up, or wait to hear that he's somewhere else."

"You could try to sound a little more excited." She smirked a little crookedly, cocking her head to straighten it out.

Lyla mirrored the secretary's smirk, if only slightly. "Oh yes. I'm ecstatic, really. What about you? Any plans for the day?"

"I'm pretty determined to enjoy a free vacation to Costa Del Sol. You know. Before I die of whatever you lot are poking at."

"To be fair, no one here did any poking, he woke up and poked u-" Lyla began, then paused to correct herself. "Vincent touched it. I guess that's technically a poke."

Clarise narrowed one eye. "Touched what, exactly?"

"Never seen anything like it before," Lyla recalled with interest, pausing to take another drink from her mug. "Like a chrysalis built out of mako. Not quite materia, but close. Sephiroth was inside it." She paused. "Seriously, no one briefed you?"

"To be fair, I said most of it would just make me want to run away screaming," The ginger shrugged.

"It's not that bad," Lyla muttered darkly, then paused again. "... no, I suppose some of it is. It might not be as bad as we're expecting. ... he's unstable, but if we can ground him, we have a leg up. We'll be ahead of Dr. Ingram."

"So... you're... looking for Sephiroth. Because he's a nut. That was trapped in a mako pod. Because he was... uhm. In a mako pod."

"... well, the because is really to keep him out of Ingram's hands. ... because -he's- a nut. Two nuts together is sometimes a bad combination."

"Yeah. Almond and walnut is kinda gross actually." She sighed, sliding down somewhat until her arms folded on the table.

"We still have some waiting to do. Don't let the sense of impending doom keep you from enjoying the free vacation," the brunette told her almost flippantly, draining the contents of her cup a moment later. "Swim or sunbathe or whatever it is you want to do. Someone should enjoy themselves while we're here."

"I wasn't really worried about me, but thanks. That impending doom thing uplifted the hell right out of me."

Lyla smirked, if only a little. "You don't worry about much, do you?"

"Gives you wrinkles." She smiled.

"Good morning, ladies," Reno interjected cheerfully, pulling a chair out across the table from them and turning it around before straddling it. "Oooh. Donuts."

"No hangover today?"

"Nope! Took a day off after the last one," the redhead explained with a grin, snatching a pair of donuts off a nearby plate. "Besides, when I dropped by the bar, it looked like -someone- was trying to get busy. Really sucked all the fun out of the place. Rude and I went to get corndogs instead."

Lyla raised an eyebrow at him, dubious. "Are you for real?"

"Genuine article, baby."

Clarise snickered into her hands.

Behind him, heavy steps filtered in as Rude made his way to the dining area. They really were only a step or two behind one another, generally. It was sort of funny, when you thought about it.

"Yo, my tightest of compadres. There are donuts," Reno announced before taking an oversized bite out of the one in his right hand, swallowing and following suit with the one in his left.

Rude flashed him a grin before taking a seat to his left, helping himself to coffee and a glazed from somewhere to their left.

Clarise looked over her shoulder, studying the hallway from whence they came. "No vampires, grandfathers or cripples, yet?"

"Hey," Reno interjected pointedly, "Careful of the 'c' word. If the prez hears you calling him a cripple, he'll smack you with that cane of his. ... well, maybe not -you," he corrected himself thoughtfully.

"Not a vampire," Lyla corrected under her breath.

"Who says I wasn't calling our fearless leader a cripple?" She cocked her head. "He kind of runs around like the one-armed man."

"Good. Just stick to that story if the prez ever overhears you. Wonder what's taking him so long, anyway? He's been kinda stand-offish the past couple of days," Reno observed. "Maybe he's still annoyed that he had to stay on the airship that time. Due to being in a wheelchair and all. Because that would have made the descent into the crater go smooth."

Lyla rolled her eyes, with only a very meager attempt to hide it with her hand. Reno caught it nonetheless and smirked in her direction.

"Where's Drac, then? Did you have to nail him into his coffin for the day?"

"Ha-ha."

"Do you call him Lestat when you guys are alone?"

"You're sort of losing your touch, Reno, you used to be kind of clever. Are you projecting? Do you and Rude like to roleplay when no one is looking?" Lyla countered with a vague smile.

Reno made an attempt to look affronted, but snickered instead. "Well, that's a start, princess."

Rude leaned down on the table, watching her wryly. "Tuesdays." He said evenly.

"Don't give it away, big guy, then they'll wanna join in and it's just gonna be some crazy orgy every week and I'm not sure I'm emotionally ready for-" Reno went on, then stopped himself, turning a grin on Clarise. "Well. You could come."

Lyla couldn't help grinning at Rude in reply, shrugging as she lifted her mug again. "Your secret's safe with me."

"What are you going on about now?" Rufus asked as he approached at a steadier pace than he would have been able to the day before, looking at the group assembled with interest. "You started making fun of Reno without me. I feel left out."

"I saved plenty of humiliation for you, boss," Reno said brightly, saluting.

"Good man, Reno."

"Well. At least the company's good." Clarise chuckled, taking a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee. In retrospect, it was too hot for that sort of thing. But god help her if she wanted to start out -this- kind of day without caffeine.

Rufus smirked at the ginger in reply, nodding once towards Reno and Rude. "At least they keep things interesting."

"I'm touched, sir, truly," Reno responded automatically.

The small woman leaned over the table. "You've been working for him a long time, huh."

Reno grimaced. "It feels like forever, honey."

Rufus smiled to himself as he reached for the coffee, filling a cup for himself. "I've mentioned on more than one occasion the excellent severance package Shinra offers."

"But hey, he's really more like a brother than a boss," Reno went on, flashing a smile.

"I can't actually decide if that's terrifying or adorable," Clarise remarked.

"I generally settle for an uncomfortable combination of the two," Rufus offered.

Clarise smiled at him as though uncertain of exactly what to make of him, then bounded up from the chair and across the expanse of the dining room. Presumably after something, although it was occasionally difficult to tell.

And with her exit came the measured, metallic steps of afore mentioned non-vampire.

"Good morning, Mr. Valentine," Rufus greeted him without looking up, his interest held by his coffee.

"Yo, Drac," Reno echoed, finishing off the last of his donut. He looked across the table towards Lyla and smirked broadly. "Out of the coffin so soon?" The brunette merely made a face at him before giving Vincent a half-hearted wave, a portion of her face hidden behind her coffee mug.

Vincent nodded, opting against taking a seat for no visible reason aside from it's location next to Reno. He forwent the coffee, as well, merely folding his arms and leaning on the far wall. "Morning." He said.

Lyla managed a faint attempt at a smile before forcing herself to look away again, trying to conjure up an interest in the present breakfast food and failing. Reno discreetly raised an eyebrow at her around a third donut, then glanced towards the door. "Wonder what she ran off for so quickly."

Rude offered him a wry look, but said nothing.

From his place at the wall, Vincent arched a brow. "More waiting today?" He surmised.

"More waiting," Lyla confirmed without looking up. "The same as yesterday."

"As long as we're waiting, we may as well enjoy ourselves," Rufus pointed out, much like Clarise before him. "Seems an awful waste to put all that energy into fretting. It won't make him arrive any sooner. Has Sephiroth ever been found when he didn't want to be?"

"Maybe not." Vincent murmured, pushing himself upright. "Or maybe several days ago."

"Considering he was stationary at the time, I don't think he had much of a say in the matter," Rufus reasoned, calm as he sipped at his coffee.

"He'll be here," Lyla told them firmly, pressing her fingernails into her palm beneath the table, knuckles white.

A tall, clear bottle was set just in front of her.

Behind, Clarise got down from her tip-toes.

Lyla blinked twice, then looked over her shoulder at the ginger, raising a brow. "Uh?"

The small blond offered her a smile, turning on her heel the better to flounce out. "Take it with lime," she said cheerily over her shoulder. "I'm going swimming."

Lyla stared dubiously at the bottle in front of her. "It's too early for vodka," she said decidedly.

"I was hoping you'd say that, princess. Yoink!," Reno cut in, reaching across the table to grab the bottle by its neck. "It's never too early for vodka."

"Your liver is going to fall out your ass some day."

"Yeah, I'm hoping it'll get put down in the history books."

Rude smirked, glancing down at his watch and then outside at the sun.

Vincent quirked an eyebrow, and made a casual check down the hall.

No Cid yet.

Hopefully he hadn't passed peacefully in his sleep.

"Someone get me some goddamn coffee," Cid's voice groused from around the corner as if on cue. "Fuckin' chocobos are louder than cats in heat."


	23. Chapter 23

It was late into the afternoon when the storm clouds gathered at the corners of the beaches that lined Costa Del Sol, deepening the shadows without claiming all that remained of the light.

Twilight poured across the white sand, casting pale purple silhouettes in shades of blue and black. The first drops of rain found Vincent standing at the edge of the water, staring up into the bleak skies.

The sudden turn in the weather was enough to convince Lyla that swimwear was a bad idea. The air had cooled with the premature twilight; even as she made her way across the beach, she untied her jacket from around her waist, shrugging it on over her shirt and pulling it closed. She knew the shift was an unnatural one. She had felt it before the change came, and come in search of the person she trusted not to look at her as though she were insane.

"It's him," her voice confirmed from somewhere behind Vincent. "Do you feel it, too?"

"The wind's changed." He said in reply, as though it explained everything he was thinking. He wheeled from the sudden churn of waves, turning calm, ruby eyes on his companion. "It's different this time. ...Turbulent. But I wonder what difference that really makes."

"His thoughts are chaotic. Running into one another... almost indistinguishable. It's effecting his surroundings," she told him, coming to a full stop beside him, arms crossed. "... we might be able to calm him down."

The gunman closed his eyes. "Maybe." He agreed, the rain washing out the last of the word as it turned in a rush onto them, pouring out over the sea in a wide wave of warmth and chills. "We'll know soon."

"If I do something," she began, looking out over the water. "Hit me."

Vincent said nothing, only took half a step back to steady his weight, drawing Cerberus as he turned.

The figure was half hidden in the torrents of rain, but there was no mistaking it. Sephiroth watched the two of them in the blue light, eyes bright in the dim. And for a tiny eternity, he said nothing, either.

Lyla studied the figure from where she stood, arms falling away from herself, steadily reaching for the staff at her hip, closing her fingers around it, leaving it collapsed for now. The look she gave the silver-haired man was calm, as even as she could keep it. She thought she would be more nervous than she was. Perhaps after hearing his voice for so long, seeing him in person was a relief.

There was a tenseness in him, like a spring ready to snap away in a far off direction. But he hesitated, unable to find a name for the force that held him still.

"I know you." He said at last, voice smooth and thick and deep as the trenches in the far sea. And as he spoke his mako eyes roved from one face to another.

"I know you," Lyla echoed, her tone somewhat more distant than usual, though still her own. Her grip on her weapon did not loosen, though she did edge a step forward, halting herself immediately afterward. His thoughts were quieter when he was close, though somewhat clearer than they had been. "Your memories are fragmented. They're hurting you, aren't they?"

In the dim his eyes narrowed into small, brilliantly emerald slits. "Hurting me." He said slowly, deliberately, fingers flexing with a faint crack that was lost in the rush of wind and wet. "Yes." His voice halted unnaturally, pulled tight as he stepped towards her.

Vincent stilled, gun leveled as though a shot would make any difference at all.

"Yes. And you... know. Don't you. You know."

She moved forward to meet him, slow, deliberate, each step cautious. She paused with a short distance left between them, frowning, eyebrows knitting together as though the proximity pained her. "It's hurting me, too. I don't understand all of it."

"I know you." He said again, and this time something like distress was in the edges of his tone. One hand raised, alive with the same tension that held him steady. He scowled as he reached for her, stopping just shy of a touch. As if unwilling. As if afraid. "Your voice. Your thoughts. Who are you?"

For a moment she looked as though she had been stricken, the simple question somehow a harder blow than she had expected. Her frown deepened slightly. "... a creation. I'm not sure what they had planned for me. ... I think I'm like you. More than I had thought."

She stared at his hand a moment, hesitant, lifting her own hand to hover closely, as though actually touching him might injure her. The amount of restraint it took for her to stand there scared her, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself. Her hand moved forward slightly, fingertips brushing against his, unable to withhold even that small action. "Maybe we're siblings."

There was so little movement, even as his entire body jerked like lightning had struck it through. He snatched his hand away, staring at it like a child who could not, for a moment, understand the nature of a burn. Hurt and confused, lost alone in the rain. And then the chuckle built low and thick in the back of his throat.

Then the light of his eyes brightened again, focused on them again. Wide, now. Focused on their silhouettes as he stepped away. "Siblings." He said softly, voice a tremulous whisper in the air. "So, so many siblings. But... they were all meant to die for me. That's what she says. That's what she's saying... every moment. Why... why is that... how it is? Am I... meant... for this...?"

Lyla held her own hand to her chest, the opposite closed around her wrist, protective. She watched him evenly, forcing herself to remain grounded, resisting the distressing urge to lurch forward and throw both arms around his middle, to bury her face in his chest and beg him to stay. A sick feeling had begun to mount in her stomach. "Because Professor Hojo thought we were his playthings. ... I don't know what you're meant for."

"Hojo." He sneered, standing erect suddenly. "Yes... I remember Hojo." The large man's lip curled, fingers flexing again under the black fabric plastered against them. Missing the hold of something desperately. "No. I won't be controlled by his like. But someone... so... no." Sephiroth lifted his head, staring up into the torrential rain.

And then he lunged, grabbing for Vincent with a speed even the gunman seemed startled by. He floundered, grabbing for his throat where the madman's nails dug deep into the flesh. "You know where he is!" He snarled, suddenly alight with rage and violence. "Give him to me." One eye narrowed, blunt nails raising fine white lines against his flesh. "I smell it on you. The Mako... poisoning. The death. Mother." His eyes narrowed. "Something else. Tell me where he is."

Vincent gagged, pressing the barrel of his gun flat against Sephiroth's chest.

"Get away from him!" The urge to hurtle towards him was different now; she moved faster than she had ever thought possible for herself, darting across the short expanse of sand to wrap both hands around Sephiroth's forearm, pulling to pry his fingers from the gunman's throat. "Hojo is dead! Let go of him!"

Sephiroth turned, the jerk of his hand throwing the gaunt man into the churning waves with little effort as he wheeled on Lyla.

Vincent hissed, hauling himself from the water even as it reached for him. Grabbing with wash and churn of wave as if it sought to drown him.

"I wont be this miserable thing." He growled, advancing on her. "My dignity. My mind. Where has it gone? You know."

She stood firm, despite having dropped her weapon to grab hold of him, hands balled into tight fists at her sides as she stared him down, unflinching even as he grew closer. "I don't know," she said evenly, though a dangerous tone had begun to rise in her voice. "I want to help you. Peace for both of us. But I don't know."

He jerked again, his movements wide and clumsy, something flickering in those bright eyes for a moment before it was gone again. Something almost like horror. And then the madness flooded in again, his rage and hurt and desperation flooding out whatever sense had fought for space within his troubled mind.

The large man bent, biting hard on a howl of frustration as he lunged at her.

She lurched backwards to avoid being struck, a narrow miss as his fingers caught at her clothes, pulling as they grasped for something more solid. Her jaw clenched as she moved, more graceful than he had managed to be, her own eyes becoming alight with something that did not quite mirror his own. Anger, hurt, some degree of fear. She did not seem to notice that she had begun to change, fingers elongating, widening to make room for the black claws that had begun to grow from them, pointed and razor-sharp. The rest of her followed suit, her clothes and coloring falling away, a blur of green against the blue light as she darted forward again, claws extended, feet well above the sand.

"Lyla!" Vincent managed, but the sound of his own voice lost somewhere in even his own ears. The sea lashed at him, catching hold of the metal in his clothes and dragging. He gagged again, fighting the current and the weight, and the horrible, burning hiss that ripped through him wherever the flesh had not fully mended in all this time.

Sephiroth grabbed for her again, though it was clumsier this time, as if his thoughts had suddenly split in two. Only half of him focused on the tussle at all.

This time he connected, his hand closing over her arm as she reached out to strike with the other, fingers spread in an attempt to rake all five claws across his face. The sound of her name forced her attention to be divided; she looked towards the water mid-attack and suddenly struggled to pull her left arm free, leaning her body towards the ocean, willing to pull her opponent with her if she could not escape his grip.

Sephiroth snarled, throwing his weight into the arc as he swung her, aiming at the far line of chairs and umbrellas.

He turned towards the sound, narrowing his eyes even as Vincent sank below the water, squinting through the turmoil as he made to swim for shore. After everything he had survived, could he really consent to an accidental drowning now?

She was unable to catch herself or stop the crash that resulted as she collided with the chairs that had been so neatly lined up in the sand. She lay perfectly still for a moment, a soft groan escaping her before she pushed herself off the ground, claws leaving long, neat grooves in the damp sand as she used both hands to thrust herself into the air. Moving fast. Smoothly. Pressing forward without running. Her own actions didn't quite register even as she flew towards the water, past Sephiroth, focused on the dark mess of black and red beneath the surface.

At first she reached for him, attempting to wrap her clawed fingers around his own metal gauntlet, but it wasn't enough. A moment of panic, then she released her hold on him, allowing herself to drop beneath the surface even as the water continued to churn, grabbing at the both of them as she put both arms around his middle and pulled, upwards.

Vincent gasped as air flooded into his lungs, knocked off balance by the creature grabbing at him. He raised Cerberus before the make of it's face registered in his mind.

Lyla.

On the shore the pale man watched them, violence seeping out of his stance even before he turned. Vanishing wholly into the last heavy waves of rain.

She kicked to pull them closer to shore, fighting the current that threatened to suck them under again, having to settle for one arm around the gunman's torso as she stared straight ahead, using her free arm to propel them forward. When they hit the shallows, she staggered instead of swam, waiting until they had reached sand to release Vincent and fall to her hands and knees, breathing heavily.

He stood, panting. The pain blurred his vision like a constant series of small, vicious bites, but he couldn't focus on that. Not for now. Instead he bent, lowering his face into her view. "Lyla," he said again, quietly. Breathless.

She snapped her head upwards to look at him, eyes blank and foreign, nothing but drowning pools of black. Her brow creased as he leaned closer to her, claws digging into the ground as she grabbed for something steady, finding only sand instead. Gradually, her breathing began to slow, still ragged, still heavy, but approaching normal. Much like the rest of her, slowly reverting to her normal coloring. Ears once again her own. Hands lacking in monstrous claws. Herself. Shaking.

He wanted to offer her his cloak, but it seemed lacking somehow, soaking wet. He did it anyway, for modesty if not warmth, draping the long cascade of red across her shoulders, covering her shivering form. Trying not to notice exactly what he'd covered.

She clutched at it with one hand, pulling it closed around her front as well as she could. It would have to be enough for now. She grabbed for him with the other hand, locking her fingers around his arm even as she staggered forward on her knees. "Are you alright?"

"I'll live." He assured her, closing his human hand over her own, forcing himself to straighten, much to the protest of his aching body. Helping her to her feet.

She stumbled in the process, leaning against him uninvited for support, shoulders shaking against her will. "What just happened."

"I'm not sure," Vincent admitted quietly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to steady them both. "But you probably just saved my life."

"Makes us even," she told him, shifting the soaked cloak across her shoulders to allow herself a bit more cover. The water had weighed it down, but it was far better than nothing at all. "He got away..."

"For now."

"So much screaming," she murmured, resting her forehead against his shoulder, wincing. "... need to get you dry. ... you'll rust."

And somehow, in spite of himself, Vincent smiled.

She lifted her head and offered him half of a tired smirk in return as she took a few steps in the direction of the hotel, growing steadier as she went. "... and I need clothes."

"Yes." He agreed, making his way in time. "And maybe a bath. For the salt."

"A bath sounds nice," she admitted, reaching to gingerly brush wet hair from her line of vision.

"Mn," the gunman mned in agreement. And if he had noticed he'd lost Cerberus in all the commotion, he didn't mention it. For now.

And, quite without invitation, she scooted closer as they walked, pressing the line of her body against his, holding the cloak closed with her left hand so that the right arm could wrap around his waist for support. Publicly, anyway. Privately, she thought Clarise might be proud. "Bandage after, once the salt is flushed out," she advised him. "... you shouldn't let open wounds rub against your clothes, anyway."

He nodded, shifting his walk slightly to accommodate her. "Are you hurt?" Vincent asked, voice carrying over the rain somehow.

"Not badly. Maybe only bruises. ... those chairs don't have much give when you're thrown into them. But nothing life-threatening," she promised him as they neared the hotel. "I can handle being a little sore."

"Good." He paused, "But I meant..."

She looked down, flexing as many of her fingers as she could without dropping the cloak. "... it aches. Burns on the inside."

Vincent nodded. "Vodka." He said softly.

She frowned. "Wishing I hadn't let Reno take mine."

"I have some."

"Lifesaver," she accused, discreetly tightening her hold on his waist.

"Mn." The gunman mned. "I could say the same for you."

"Take your bath," she instructed him as they passed through the entrance and stepped onto the nearest elevator, directing it to drop them at the third floor. "... let me look at your back afterward, then I'll help you bandage everything."

For a moment he considered protesting, but then he remembered how very difficult it had become to see straight, and acquiesced. "Far cabinet." He muttered as they approached the door to his room, peeling off his headband as he went. "Top drawer."

"Back once I'm dressed," she warned him, reluctantly retrieving her arm. "Thank you for the loan."

Vincent offered her a mild nod, his expression too calm for the way his wounds were screaming. He shifted his weight, swinging on one foot towards the shower.


	24. Chapter 24

Lyla returned several minutes later, having been quick to find clothes. She hadn't been particularly picky, anything dry would do, though she had to admit that she may have spent an extra minute or two locating a pair of pants that were just a tiny bit more snug than all the rest. She could still hear the shower running behind the bathroom door after going ahead and letting herself in. She shut and locked the door behind her, heading over to inspect the drawer Vincent had pointed out. She couldn't help smirking faintly as she retrieved the bottle of vodka he had promised, helping herself to a seat on the bed as she uncorked it and took a swig.

It wasn't long before he emerged, still dripping faintly and clothed in plain black slacks and a single glove. The towel lingered around his shoulders, draped cross the ruin of his chest.

It was similar to the mess of his back, another roadmap of marks the body was never meant to endure. But the stitches here had long since been pulled away, leaving hard, livid lines across his chest and gut- the mark of a dissection t-cut and the patches left by careless hands.

He sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh, rubbing the towel over his hair.

She leaned back to get a better view of his injuries, frowning as she took the time to appraise Hojo's work. Quick. Sloppy. The latter was the reason so many of the scars hadn't healed properly. Of course, that had probably been Hojo's intent. She lightly touched one of the angrier-looking scars on his back before setting the bottle on the floor, reaching for the small bag of medical supplies she had brought along with her. She set it on the bed before opening it, reaching for gauze and a roll of bandages.

"I'm not equipped to do it today," she began, unrolling a length of bandage, "But I can take the rest of those stitches out for you. It will hurt, but it's a step towards healing properly."

"I couldn't reach them," he said by way of explanation, reaching up with the gloved hand to rub at the back of his neck.

"I figured," she admitted, reaching for the bottle to take another swig before passing it to him. She used his lifting his arm as an opportunity to slip one end of the bandage beneath the other, circling his middle and crossing it at his back to start covering the very worst of the scars, where they yawned open at the edges. "Too tight?"

He shook his head. "Fine." He said, taking a drink himself.

Of the array there only a few were torn open, bleeding sluggishly against his pale, cool skin. The blood was red as any, though perhaps slightly darker than most, seeping slow and thick between the wide, black stitches.

The blood showed through the first layer of bandaging, but a few more times around and it was covered, fastened snugly at his back when she was finished. "Try not to move any more than you have to," she warned him, advice that, for a moment, she felt was very unfortunate. Her fingers lightly traced a pair of scars that were long healed before she retracted her hand.

"I can take them out in a few days, once the bleeding has stopped and you've started to knit yourself back together again."

"Better sooner than later."

And really, what was the likelihood that he wasn't going to pull them again? Next to none, from where he stood at current.

"Most of them are grown over," she remarked with a frown, putting the remaining bandages back into her bag and dropping it to the floor. "Going to hurt like a bitch. You'll need the vodka then, too."

Vincent smiled grimly, but for the moment omitted comment.

It just didn't seem to help anything, admitting the vodka never hurt. Pointing out the way it ached and stung without any sort of stimulus at all. He had no right to complain, after all. In a way, all of this was only as much as he had done to himself.

"I hung your cloak on the back of the door," she said after a few more moments of silence, leaning back and putting her weight on one hand against the mattress. She held the other hand out for the bottle without hesitation. "May I?"

Vincent handed it over obligingly, leaning back himself. Though less gingerly than he probably ought to.

"Thanks. Easy there," she half-scolded, lifting the bottle to her lips. "You'll need new bandages within the hour if you're not careful." She paused to drink, smirking faintly behind the mouth of the bottle. "Not a good thing, even if it is an excuse to put my hands all over you."

The gunman offered her a curious look, wondering if she was drunk already, or only tired. Then he smirked faintly, leaning back on his elbows. "We should tell the others. At some point."

"Yeah," she agreed softly, glancing towards the door. "Maybe let them enjoy a little more of their evening before we disturb the peace. What's the look for?"

"You seem to feel better."

She raised an eyebrow in question, comprehending on her own a moment later. "... mmn. You've already seen me naked. Makes everything else a lot less embarrassing in comparison. I guess I can reserve the neurosis for all of the other things going on that are actually terrible."

Vincent coughed into his gloved hand, though it sounded suspiciously like a faint chuckle.

"I mean, in retrospect, sticking my foot in my own mouth a few dozen times over the course of a week? Really not life-threatening."

"I don't think it was bad as all that."

She raised a brow again before turning her wrist so that she could point at herself. "Neurotic. It's debilitating."

"I gathered." The rest of the thought, Vincent decidedly kept to himself.

"My cross to bear," she said simply, taking another drink from the bottle before passing it back to him. "Here. You probably need this more than I do. How's the stinging?"

"Had worse." He rasped, but accepted the bottle anyway. For a moment he considered discussing what had happened, but ultimately decided against it.

The problem with that was that it left him without any inclination of how to proceed.

"What the fuck else is wrong with me," she murmured, breaking the awkward silence after a moment, talking to herself more than anyone as she turned her free hand over, examining it. "The file didn't mention that."

"The files leave out more than you'd think." Vincent frowned, offering her the bottle again.

She accepted it, taking another drink. "No kidding," she muttered. "... and yet, this is one of the least upsetting revelations. At least I was in control of myself while shifted. ... though, not so much control over the shift itself."

The gunman nodded, giving up the ghost and letting his arms go slack, leaning all the way back. "It will come."

"Think of all the inconvenient times -that- could pop up," she went on, wincing slightly as she looked over at him. "Did that ever happen to you?"

"Oh." Vincent offered her a cool look that somehow seemed to radiate mirth. "Here and there."

She leaned back a bit further, looking up towards the ceiling. "I think mid-coitus would be the most traumatic. ... seems like a likely cosmic joke," she mused absently.

Vincent frowned at a long, thin crack that crossed it. "Mn." he said.

And now that she mentioned it, Fucking God Almighty.

"Please don't tell me that happened to you."

"No." He said evenly. "No, it hasn't." And it never, never will.

She looked over again, curious, then closed her eyes after a moment, relaxed mood deflating somewhat. "So that becoming a selective mute thing I've mentioned before. How many times do you think I need to ruin my own life before I really follow through?"

He made a noise somewhere between cough and chuckle. "It would be a shame."

She snorted lightly in reply, a laugh that had died out somewhere along the way. "You're cute sometimes," she informed him somewhat wearily.

Vincent opened his mouth, floundered silently for a moment, and closed it again. He cleared his throat softly, as if that might count as some response.

She smirked faintly, looking back to the ceiling. "As though that's the most embarrassing moment you've had lately."

"It might be," he said evenly to the ceiling.

She finally followed his example and laid back against the mattress, letting her hands rest over her stomach. "I could take it back."

Vincent watched the crack for a beat before he spoke, unable to rise to the teasing, despite the nagging realization that he'd have liked to.

"Lyla." He said quietly. "I'll only make you miserable."

"Maybe," she conceded, the teasing tone of voice having fled elsewhere. "And I shouldn't be so willing to heap my problems on you when you have enough worries of your own. It's selfish. ... especially when I don't even know how to deal with myself."

"That's not a problem." He frowned. "If I can help you, I will. ...I want to."

She turned her head to face him, carefully shifting the rest of her body to do the same, tucking one hand beneath her ear to keep it from being pressed against the mattress. "I keep feeling like it's a lot to ask, even though I keep coming to you for help anyway. ... I don't trust anyone else, not with any of this."

"Maybe." Vincent agreed, turning his head to better see her. Pulling the damp tangles of black taught around his ungloved fingers. "But I've been there. Or close. They haven't."

For once she did not avert her eyes; instead she met his, curling the fingers of her free hand against the bedspread. "I don't see how the person who manages to make me feel sane could make me miserable."

He hesitated, as if the next answer might breach waters he cared to leave unsailed. Vincent turned his eyes back on the expanse of white paint overhead. "It rubs off," he said at last. "After awhile."

She watched him for a moment, frowning slightly as he turned away, lowering her eyelids as she fixed her gaze elsewhere. Staring blankly at the space between them. "It would be easier if you just told me you're not interested," she said softly after awhile. "It's alright."

The gunman frowned. "I'm bad at that."

"You don't have to be good at it, I got the hint," she told him, using her hand to prop herself up, shifting closer to the edge of the bed and looking down to try and spot where she had dropped her bag.

Vincent arched an eyebrow at her, but made no move to sit up. "That I lie poorly?"

She paused just as she was about to stand, perched at the edge of the mattress, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Oh. No."

"Well." He turned his eyes back on the paint. "I do."

"I... oh. ... you do," she echoed, their brief miscommunication sinking in as she leaned back again, laying on her side, a bit closer to him than she had been previously.

He shifted at the sound of her drawing nearer, finding her face again with his calm eyes. "I'm a wreck." Vincent's tone was short, almost abrupt, like the leap of a diver before he could change his mind.

"I know," she told him, watching him with an expression that looked as though something had caused her physical pain. "I don't care. I'm not exactly without baggage, either."

Vincent considered that for a moment, his features pulling thin with uncertainty as he tried to decide how to proceed. "It isn't, baggage." He said at last, slowly. "It's more, than that. I'm..." The halting explanation stopped, and something like frustration and disgust in one soured his expression and fled.

She gave him a questioning look, reaching out to lightly touch her fingers to the back of his ungloved hand. Cautious, patient.

"Hollow." he said at last, and with the word came a rush of something that seemed almost like fright. But after a moment his eyes closed, and he said it again without the jerks. "I'm hollow."

She only stared for a moment, carefully considering a response as she curled her fingers around his hand without permission. "Hollow," she repeatedly softly. "... is it the sort that could someday be filled up again?"

Vincent watched their fingers entwine without making any attempt to separate them. "How?" He asked, though there was no inflection to the word. "There's nothing to fix. Not a monster. Not a man. Not anything, at all."

"You're still a man. Still a person," she corrected him, sliding a bit closer. "... just a broken one. Broken things -can- be fixed. ... you're not empty. How could you have helped me if you were?"

"I remember." He murmured. "But I don't feel. Not like I should. Not like men feel." Red eyes flicked up, searching her face with cautious curiosity. As if looking for an answer they did not expect to find. "Regrets, and what ifs. Guilt. This is my punishment. This body, these pains. Paying for someone's sins, that I don't even know anymore. What could I give you, Lyla. I don't have anything left. I barely remember having it at all."

"You make me feel safe. Sane. ... so much less alone," she told him, forcing herself to look downwards, as though the words embarrassed her more than all the rest. "... it makes me sound selfish, when I say it out loud. ... it sounds like I want to use you. I don't. ... I don't expect anything, you don't have to give me anything. I just like being near you."

"I don't want to hurt you." he said quietly, voice steeped in a color of desperation that was soft and red. "I don't want to cause you pain."

"I could take it," she insisted, their fingers still entwined between them. "After everything else...? ... I can handle it. And I want to help you. You've helped me. Maybe help you feel something other than pain."

"I don't deserve the help," he breathed, turning his face down towards their knees. The weight strung between his shoulders seemed to sag deep into his bones. "Look what I've caused."

She reached with the hand that was not occupied with his, carefully touching the side of his face. "Yes, you do. You've been punished so much already. More than anyone deserves, Vincent."

He gave his head a very faint, very small shake. "You don't know." He murmured, and for the first time his voice went raw with pain. "You don't know what I've done. ...What I haven't done."

She was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond, unknowingly tightening her hold on his hand. "You couldn't convince me that you're so irredeemable. No matter what it was. I've seen enough evidence to the contrary."

Vincent cupped the talons of his gloved hand over his face, fighting for the composure he had misplaced. But the memories returned unbidden, tearing into him with the lengthened claws of innumerable replays. Voices sharp and shrill with the accusations of immeasurable hours.

His fingers trembled in Lyla's grip, breaking down against the onslaught before his expression did.

"Vincent?" she ventured, her voice having dropped to barely above a whisper, concerned. She dropped her hand from his face even as he covered it with his claw, instead draping it over his waist, hand flat against his back in an attempt to comfort. "Vincent..."

"I could have stopped it," he said at last, when the tremor in his voice had subsided. Replaced by a thick ache that sounded too human in his throat. "All of it. Before it even started."

"What are you talking about?" It was a genuine question, no hidden accusations, only curiosity and concern.

And this, said the nasty voice in the very back of his mind. This suffering was your fault, too. One ripple, Vincent. It goes on and on and on and on.

Forever.

Just like your mounting failures.

Red eyes snapped upward, focusing intently on Lyla's face. "I knew about the projects," he said in a low voice.

"Charles said you worked with Gast and Hojo and my father in some capacity," she told him, meeting his eyes when he looked up, keeping her gaze steady despite the fact that the intensity of his own made her feel slightly uneasy. "... it was why he wanted to hire you, or so he told me. Because you were already involved. I'm... not surprised that you knew about them," she admitted, though her voice remained low, hesitant. "How much did you know?"

"Enough." He shifted, pressing his clawed fingers carefully over his temples, smoothing away the tension there. "I was assigned to supervise... oversee the treatment and execution of... everything."

"Prometheus?" she asked him, moving close enough to lean against him, pressing her ear to his chest. "... the dates in your file. It's too early for Pandora. You were in Nibelheim, I know." She looked downwards, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips. "My father said that he and Gast didn't realize how much harm was being done until it was too late. ... that it couldn't be stopped."

"I knew." He murmured, voice gone still and grim. "But I let my emotions..." He frowned, swallowing back a wave of sudden nausea. Ill with himself.

"You didn't build the monsters," she told him sharply, tilting her head upwards to look at him. "If you're to blame because you didn't stop it, then so is everyone else who was involved. Dr. Gast, my father. ... it doesn't matter anymore, regret won't change the past. That's why we have to fight now. Find a way to stop it. Stop more people from getting hurt. ... that will help more than any amount of blame you place on yourself."

Vincent shook his head, slowly. Forcing himself to disentangle, to sit up and let go.

"No." He said. "No excuses."

He didn't mention that he had made the fight his personal mission. He didn't bring up what he'd spent the last four years devoted to. He didn't need to. She knew. But the rest...

That was more difficult to dismiss.

She carefully propped herself up, alone, hands clutching at the bedspread beneath her. "You've been fighting to put an end to it, haven't you? This could be your chance to finish it for good. It could be your closure."

"I knew, Lyla." He said, eyes on the measure flex of his clawed fingers. "Gast. Caraway. Maybe. But I knew. And I never said a thing, because I loved his wife."

She fell silent then, at a loss for words, staring at her hands rather than his face. When she finally looked up, her expression was one of understanding rather than distress. "You thought you were protecting her from them? ... but she needed to be protected from him, instead, didn't she."

Vincent closed his eyes then, face twisting in pain.

"You made a mistake," she told him, though she had to look away again, downwards, gently biting at her lower lip. "Everyone does. I did, too. I've been assisting Ingram for two years now. At first it was fine. Normal. But after awhile, there was always something that didn't sit right. I thought what we were doing was right for so long, but it changed. I overlooked it because I thought he was brilliant. I told myself over and over that we were good people, that I was just being paranoid because of our predecessors. That the mission statement was as he said it was, no ulterior motives. Now he has access to almost... everything Hojo left behind. I don't know what he has planned for Sephiroth. But he got this far because I helped him. I opened the door for him. I did it because I was stupid and I was in love with him."

The pale man looked up, the fine tangles of his hair falling haphazardly across the slender lines of his face. For a long time he didn't say anything at all. And then he nodded, just once. Slow and deep. A note of calm in his face that had not been there before.

"So I get it," she told him, picking at the edge of her sleeve, unable to look up. "But regretting that I helped him isn't going to fix things. Keeping him from Sephiroth is a start. Destroying the rest of the projects will. If you help me, maybe you'll find peace with yourself when it's done. Closure."

"Maybe." He said quietly.

She looked up, only lifting her head halfway to do so. "Had you ever talked about it before?"

"No."

"Maybe it was about time, then."

"Maybe." Vincent looked up.

She released her hold on the bedcovers, knuckles having long since gone white. "You had me worried for a moment."

The gunman looked up curiously.

"With the upset," she explained after a moment, once she realized that explanation was indeed necessary. "... you're usually so calm. I thought maybe being upset would be a trigger for you to shift, like it was for- well, you have a better handle on it, of course."

"It takes more than that," he said quietly, sitting a little straighter. There was a hesitation then. Something the dark man wanted to say, and couldn't quite come to. He looked at the ceiling as if it might be written there in cues.

She had begun to slouch, her shoulders rolled forward as her hands rested in her lap, still fidgeting discreetly. She watched him with interest, venturing to speak after he had allowed the silence to carry on for a few beats. "What?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" she asked, leaning back on both hands.

"...For... mn." Vincent shook his head. "For understanding."

She smiled at that, if only a little. "As much as I can, anyway."

Vincent nodded, examining the gloved hand absently. "It's enough."

"Still believe you could only make me miserable?" she asked him, inclining her head slightly.

"Yes." He admitted, offering her a glance from the side of one eye. "But... you don't. Do you."

She shook her head, causing still-damp tangles of hair to fall forward. "No. Maybe you think I expect more than I do. ... You can tell me how inhuman you think you are over and over, or that you don't deserve to be helped. It won't make a difference. You can't stop me from wanting you."

Vincent offered her a look that was steeped half in disbelief. "Why?" He asked, holding up his presumably mangled hand. "If nothing else..."

She stared passively at the gloved hand for a moment, seemingly unruffled. "I told you yesterday that I didn't care," she told him, frowning. "... I'm not sure I can explain the why."

"I meant in general." He snorted softly, returning the hand to the bed spread.

"I still don't care," she said pointedly, though she had straightened up slightly to fold her arms over her chest, almost petulant, though not quite. "I'm not human. ... less so than you, if you're going to insist that you're not."

"You're not dead," he countered evenly.

"Your heart beats," she retorted.

"It does." Vincent agreed. "But it didn't."

"Your answer will always be that you're a monster, won't it."

"Maybe." He said, frowning at his hands again. More in thought than in displeasure. "...If I didn't, I might go insane."

She frowned in turn, watching him intently even as he looked away, her own arms still crossed, stubborn. "... do you want me to leave?" she asked finally, unable to withhold the sigh that followed.

"No." He leaned back. "Not if you don't want to."

"... I don't."

Vincent nodded, sitting up again with a slight grunt to seek out the bottle of vodka that had migrated to the floor. Taking a drink before offering it to his companion.

She accepted it gratefully, tipping it back and taking a drink that was a bit more ambitious than those previous, wincing slightly as it burned on the way down, holding the bottle out to offer it back afterward. "I think it's only fair I should warn you, I'm a stubborn woman. This wilting flower business that's been going on isn't really the usual. ... the socially awkward part is normal, though," she told him very seriously.

"I wouldn't know anything about being socially awkward." He deadpanned, taking the bottle back in clawed fingers.

"Master of rhetoric," she agreed solemnly, moving closer in a way that she hoped was subtle. It very much was not.

He smirked faintly. "Mn." Vincent agreed, and if he noticed her half-crawl, he had the grace not to mention it.

It took her a few moments to decide on the next course of action. Either this plan was flawless, or so full of stupid that, had she been in her right mind, she would spend the next twenty-four hours banging her head against the wall of her room. For a moment, she thought about blaming it on the vodka, but she knew she had a much better head for alcohol than most people of her acquaintance. Maybe all of the stress and all the noise had finally pushed her to not give a damn. Leaning forward, she kissed him.

A normal person would have startled in a jerk, or maybe a stiffening of shoulders. Vincent, after all this time, was far from normal. And he could admit it. Still, he wondered how strange it was to simply stare when a pretty woman closed in to seal her lips over yours.

Distantly.

Bad idea, said the guilty conscience at his shoulders. Bad idea, chorused the accusing voices in his mind. Bad idea, howled his common sense. Bad idea, murmured his sense of decency and right.

Go for it, muttered the frustrated libido in the very back of his head.

Vincent moved, just enough to make it a kiss over an oral attack.

If she was disappointed that he hadn't thrown her down on the mattress and had his way with her, she didn't show it. After all, it had been a long time since anyone had kissed him, hadn't it? Come to think of it, it had been a long time since -she- had kissed anyone. Besides, this sort of thing took time. Baby steps.

She allowed the kiss to break after a few moments, though she didn't do much to put space between them, studying his face curiously.

He watched her, watching him, for the first time in a long while feeling at a loss. It had been... awhile. An eternity, if he were honest.

"Was that so terrible?" she asked softly, genuine.

"I wasn't afraid it would be terrible."

"Were you afraid it wouldn't be?"

Vincent made a soft noise a lot like chuckling, turning his face away in a search for the vodka he had somehow misplaced. You know the answer to that, don't you? But he didn't ask it. Somehow, he trusted she would understand.

She reached for the bottle before he could fumble for it, sitting upright as she offered it to him. "Here," she told him, looking away as though she felt the need to award him a moment of privacy while he drank. After a brief pause, she spoke again.

"... you shouldn't be afraid that you'll hurt me. You can't hurt me more than anyone else already has. I can take anything by now."

"You shouldn't have to." The gunman frowned, reaching out to catch her hand instead of the bottle. Gently, human fingers warm and alive against her skin. "Not for anything. Not for this."

She looked back, mildly surprised as their fingers caught, instinctively curling her own around the warmth of his. "I don't think you're so bad," she told him honestly. "I'm not afraid of what you think might happen."

Vincent considered that, giving a soft huff that sounded like assent. "I should turn you away."

"... you're right that you might hurt me," she finally conceded, though she didn't seem to be swayed. "I could hurt you, too. But I'm not so afraid of that, that I would make myself stay away from the only person I want to be close to right now. We could hurt each other... but I feel like we could help each other, too."

This time he did snort. "And you want to test the hypothesis."

"I feel using science against me is unfair in my delicate state."

"Was it against you?" He asked, and the even cadence of his voice passed this once for feigned innocence.

His tone forced a smirk out of her as she turned towards him again, leaning closer. "A low blow, really."

"Are you saying you don't want to test it?"

"I do," she corrected him, moving in to press a kiss against the side of his mouth. "Do you plan to let me?"

He hesitated before shifting, allowing their bodies to fold closer. "I shouldn't," he said again, though the fight in the thought seemed to have abated.

She allowed one arm to drop around his waist, brushing her lips against his as she kissed him a third time, lingering. "Please do."

As was so often the case, Vincent said nothing. But a moment later, he leaned in to kiss her back.

So he was very much annoyed when a knock on the door interrupted them.

"Ello? Hey! Vin! Are ye in there, laddie?"

Lyla went very still all of a sudden, one arm still firmly around Vincent's waist even as she frowned against his lips. "No," she said under her breath after a moment, "You're not."

Vincent shifted just enough to see the door over Lyla's shoulder, frowning at it.

"He-llo-oh."

The brunette followed his gaze towards the door. Maybe if they kept quiet long enough, he would wander off... eventually.

"C'mon, Vin! I know yer in there! Yer nae at the bar!"

She narrowed her eyes hatefully at that door. Sighing, she eased her hold on Vincent, shifting so that she was no longer bearing down on him, allowing him room to move if he so desired. "Great."

With a sigh, Vincent cleared his throat. Then, in a light, clear voice, said, "Think you have the wrong room, friend!"

There was a pause outside, and the shuffling of small robotic feet. "Ey? O-oh! Aye! Sorry, there!"

The shadow beneath the door moved, and within the minute, they were alone.

Lyla stared at the door for another moment in mild disbelief before turning her attention back to the darkhaired man, unable to keep herself from grinning broadly. "Nicely done," she told him.

Vincent wasn't smiling at her. Instead he had gotten to his feet, and had his hand extended. "Come on." He rasped. "We probably have three minutes max before he sorts it out."

She looked mildly disappointed even as she took his hand and followed him to her feet, though she made a valiant attempt to hide it. "Time to tell the others already, then?"

"No." He murmured, "Time to find somewhere to hide."

She put her free hand over her mouth for a moment to stifle a laugh. "We can hide in my room for a little while, I'm one floor up."

"Sounds like a plan."


	25. Chapter 25

It was baffling. Nothing about the situation made sense. Cid simply couldn't understand why such an expensive hotel with such fancy rooms and silly frills all over the place had such a disappointing bar. He couldn't get comfortable on the stool. The barkeep was all dressed up in a shirt and tie and was all respectable when he got you your drinks. The place was half-empty with no good conversations to eavesdrop on, and his drinking buddy was missing in action.

What a waste of a vacation.

And then there was a cat.

Cait Sith hauled himself up onto the bar with a flop, readjusting his crown with a huff. "Cid," he said.

Cid blinked at the new arrival. "Hey. You're alive again. Thought you'd get the new model to us faster'n this."

"Well, there were a wee bit o'complications." The small creature admitted with a sigh. "Got a lil'lost in transit. An'we're nae inexpensive, ye know! But tha's nae the point." He shook his head. "I got a message ta take tae Vin. What room is 'e in?"

Cid frowned, lightly tapping against the bar with one hand as he used the other to lift his cigarette to his lips, taking a drag before he responded. "214-B, next t'my room. No idea where 'e is, though. Been out all afternoon I think."

Somehow, through closed eyes and kitty features, the robot managed to look incredulous. "But I was AT 214-B! Some laddie I dinnae know tol'me I was at the wrong spot!"

Cid grunted in reply. "S'his room alright. Maybe he's playin' tricks on ya."

Cait Sith gave the pilot wide, hurt eyes. "Vin?"

"He's kinna slippery sometimes. Maybe jus' wanted some time alone."

"...I thought I heard two people in there..."

The pilot narrowed an eye suspiciously. "Onna them sound like a lady?"

"Aye."

Cid tapped his chin in thought. "He an' Lyla've been holin' up to have a lotta private chats lately."

"Lyla?" Cait Sith grabbed at his tail compulsively.

"Yeah, they get along good, looks like. What're you all nervous 'bout, cat?"

"Ye don' think they're makin' eyes, do ye?"

The blond let out a long, slow whistle by way of a response. "So many eyes, cat. So many eyes."

"So... 'e lied tae me?"

"Looks like it."

Cait Sith looked hurt.

"Don' cry, Cait, you're gonna rust. An' with your bran' new body an' everything."

"Yer right," he sniffed, rubbing at one closed eye with his tail-tip. "But, where's the trust, Cid! I thought there was trust."

"The trust is gone, I'm afraid. Bet they haven't gone far, y'could still catch 'im," the pilot offered.

"Aye!" The little cat leapt to his feet, giving a haphazard salute before jumping down from the bar and skittering off.

"If they're not there," Cid called after him, smirking to himself, "She's in 312-A."

* * *

Lyla, by some strange miracle, had begun to doze, forcing herself to admit that the afternoon's events had taken a lot more out of her than she had let on. The pain had subsided, but weariness had settled in. Her eyelids were at half-mast when her phone rang, causing her to startle as she fumbled for it, groping her way across the top of the nightstand until her fingers closed around its familiar shape. She did not answer, only studied the display as "Dad" flashed desperately.

Vincent looked over from his seat at the window, lofting a brow curiously. He had been there for the past hour or so, watching the waves. Trying to reconcile a course of action and his conscience. Games settled, Sephiroth's face had returned to the front of his mind. So much confusion, and so much rage. Was there any hope in redeeming him, somehow? Or was that another delusion he had forced himself to believe?

Lyla glanced in his direction only briefly, looking back to the phone's display before shoving it beneath her pillow rather than answering. "Later," she murmured, though guilt had finally begun to prick at her. She wondered if enough time had passed. She didn't feel ready to talk to her father, not yet, but it wasn't right to leave him hanging. Wondering. He was worrying, wasn't he? He always worried.

The gunman looked back out the window, eyes silvered by the rising moon. "Tell him you're busy," he suggested. "But tell him you're alright."

"I should," Lyla conceded, recovering her phone from its pillowy grave, though it had gone silent. "That should be enough for now, right? ... if I promise him we'll talk later." As though the man in question had heard her, the phone began to ring again; she paused to study it a second time, hesitant, forcing herself to answer a moment later. "Hi, Dad. I'm busy at the moment, but I'm- Charles?" Something unseen seemed to cause all signs of drowsiness to disappear; suddenly she was awake and alert, sitting upright.

Across the room, Vincent rose to his feet, attention drawn to the girl on the bed. Charles? He frowned.

Charles Ingram.

The look on her face had twisted, gone from surprised to angry instead, dark eyebrows knit together as she pressed a button on the outside of her phone. A man's voice filtered into the room, calm and even, almost cheerful, but not quite. There was nothing friendly about it. Only taunting.

"- in the same hotel. If you force me to come to your room and get you myself, I will, but please, let's handle this business transaction like civilized people. Give me the files you took on Pandora, my dear, and we'll discuss the return of your father. That much will earn you his body in a closed casket. If you would like him alive and in one piece, then I would very much like to cut a deal with you."

"Bastard," Lyla all but spat into the phone, unable to articulate more than that.

"Come now, such language doesn't become you. What did I say about civilized?"

"What do you want, Ingram." Vincent cut in, his low, rough voice as even and unemotional as it had always been. "Get to the point."

"Ah, Mr. Valentine is there, too. How convenient," the man on the other end of the line remarked, though there was a strange edge to his voice for a moment. It passed as he continued. "I would like to arrange a trade. One of you for your Dr. Caraway. Either will do. I'm a reasonable man who can resign myself to just one."

"You've got to be kidding me," Lyla began, but Ingram cut her off, unseen, before she could continue.

"Let's not play with your father's life, Lyla. If I recall, you played the role of doting daughter quite well, for what you turned out to be. I'm aware that it would ruin you if any harm were to come to him. Consider that your inspiration. You're more than welcome to throw Mr. Valentine under the bus... though if you come yourself, and do so quietly, I promised to sew you back up when I've finished." Perhaps was horrified her most was the absolute lack of malice in his tone.

Vincent grit his teeth. And he had been to see the doctor the night before. It had never occurred to him that he might be in danger. Why? Why the fuck hadn't that option been laid out on the obvious table.

"Please don't hurt him," she pressed, painfully aware of the fact that her voice had broken on the first word, fumbling reach the edge of the bed and get to her feet. Privately, she cursed herself for not thinking to contact him earlier, for not telling him to run. Why hadn't she thought of this? Why hadn't she been able to beat Ingram to the punch?

Because she had been too busy being angry... that was why.

"That's entirely up to you," Ingram informed her. "I'll allow you an hour to decide. I'll be waiting in room 412-B. Your father is elsewhere, but don't worry. I'll take you to see him, even let you watch as he's released. No tricks. I would like to do this legitimately. If you're not here within the hour, I'll empty an entire clip into his head. Are we clear, love?"

"Crystal," she said through clenched teeth, the color having long since drained from her face.

Vincent waited until the phone clicked off to flex his fingers until the bones cracked. "I'll go." He said quietly. "We need to tell the others, and decide on a plan."

"You can't," Lyla informed him brusquely, even as she tugged one boot on over her right foot. "You shouldn't have to, he's not yours to save. This is my problem."

"This is every one's problem." He told her in a tone far calmer than he felt. "Ingram can't get what he wants."

"He won't, because I'm going to kill him."

"I can't let you, Lyla."

She looked up from fastening one boot, reaching for the other. "I can't let -you- go, you've suffered enough. Do you think I can't bring myself to do it? I can."

Vincent watched her as she fussed with the clasps, his expression unreadable. "You're too eager. This is personal for you."

"It was already personal," she pointed out, drawing back up to her full height. "He just went and made it more so."

"And now you're angry. He needs your guard down, Lyla. And he's going to get it, like this."

"He has my father," she said firmly, though she did pause in moving towards the door, stopping to fold her arms instead. "He has to come out of this okay."

"Yes." the gunman agreed.

"How do you propose we do that other than the exchange? You can't trick him."

"I'll go." He said again.

"He'll tear you apart," she told him. "No."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Vincent countered. "Or the last."

"It could be the last," she corrected him. "You can't do this. At least if I go, he might... put me back together."

"Your father will appreciate that, I'm sure."

"He'll be alive," she said sharply. "We're wasting time."

"We have an hour to walk up a floor." Vincent corrected her with a frown.

She frowned in reply, using her folded arms as a discreet cover for hugging herself a moment later, shifting uncomfortably. "Whatever he does to you, I don't want that blood on my hands. I don't want you to go."

"I don't intend to roll over, Lyla. I've done that enough. Your father can't have your blood on his hands, either."

"Then what is it you plan to do?" she asked evenly, appraising him.

"Whatever I have to."

"You might not come back."

Vincent lowered his head enough to match their eyes evenly. "I'm harder to kill than that. So are you."

"Alright," she conceded finally, though her frown had deepened, clearly displeased. "Whatever we have to do. ... you have to come back."

The gunman nodded.

She sighed as she reached into her computer bag, groping for something until she resurfaced a moment later with a flash drive. "Glad I made a copy of this."

"He won't have it for long."

She glanced up. "You planning to take it back?"

Vincent tipped his head. "You planning to let him keep it?"

"No," she admitted, "But I hadn't thought very far ahead yet."

"Neither have I." he admitted, pulling his cloak on with practiced ease. "We need to let the others know."

She reached for her jacket instinctively; deciding it was too warm only after she had grabbed it and opting to tie it around her waist instead, covering the stretch of stomach that her shirt would have shown otherwise. "Yeah. Let's fill them in, figure out the rest on the way. Cid is probably in the bar. ... come to think of it, everyone else probably is, too."

The gunman made a soft, affirmative grunt as he opened the door-

And nearly stepped on the small, robotic cat.

"VIN," it said with some indignance. "Ye lied tae me!"

"What?" He blinked.

Lyla stopped suddenly in an attempt to avoid a collision, only bumping into Vincent's backside very gently instead. "Cait?"

"Were ye in 214-B all th'time, Vin? I heard someone say yae weren', but-"

"Don't know what you mean." Vincent shook his head, reaching down to pick the robot up. "Come on. We have to hurry."

"Tae what now?"

"Ingram is here," Lyla supplied, slipping past Vincent and into the hallway and starting towards the stairs, immediately setting an urgent pace. "We need to deal with him."

"Naw ol'melty mouth?" Cait Sith asked in horror, clinging to Vincent's collar as he started after her.

"The very same," she said sharply without looking back, though there was an edge to her voice that hadn't been there before, an injured tone. She gripped the banister with one hand as they reached the top of the stairs, using it for support as she took them down two at a time. "He has my dad."

"Doc Caraway?" The cat asked in horror, clinging a little tighter. "Th'mingin!" How howled, waving a fist. "What'er we waitin' for? Les gi'im!"

"I'd like to take a scalpel to him before all this is over," Lyla hissed through clenched teeth, hitting the bottom of the stairs and taking a sharp turn towards the bar.

"We're getting him." Vincent muttered, following her round the bend.

Cid looked up from his drink as he heard angry footsteps approaching, Reno doing the same two stools down. "What's goin' on, kids?"

Rude paused mid-shot to look over, setting the glass down curiously. "...?"

"I foun'im." Cait Sith announced helpfully.

"I see that," Cid noted, giving Vincent a curious look. Past Reno and Rude, Rufus leaned back from his place at the bar in order to see around the rest of the group, a martini glass in hand.

"Has something happened?" the president asked, arching a fine, pale brow in question as he appraised the new arrivals.

"Ingram is in this hotel," Lyla told him and all assembled, forgetting the incident with Sephiroth in her panic, despite his voice ringing in her ears. "He has my father. He wants the files on the Pandora project and a guinea pig in return for his safety."

"He says he isn't here." Vincent added evenly. "We have roughly 45 minutes."

"Shit," Reno exhaled, squinting one eye, annoyed, as he slid off his barstool. "So what're we gonna do?"

"What he wants. For the moment."

"Yer not really gonna give him someone," Cid accused, also getting to his feet. "We can beat up one little scientist, c'mon now."

"Vincent has offered to go," Lyla informed him, a strange hitch rising in her voice. "He'll come back."

"You remember Hojo." The gunman frowned, reaching to remove Cait Sith from his shoulders.

"Bampot's larger'n life, now, Cid!" The robot illustrated with a flail of his arms. "All melty mouthed an'orrible!"

Reno vaguely held a hand out to Cait Sith, wordlessly offering him assistance should he wish to climb. "So've you got a plan for once you're out of our care? That guy healed right up after anything we did to him."

"Haven't gotten that far." He admitted.

Cait Sith made a face as he scrambled up Reno's arm. "Who're you, now, Cloud?"

"Let's be fair, Cloud may have liked to do things big and brash and without thinking," Rufus began, "but at least he went in swinging a giant sword around. There aren't many adversaries who would run into -that- face-first. Shifting didn't work so well last time. Any other tricks, Valentine?"

"...I have a few." The gunman looked up. "We don't have time to argue. Our first priority should be Caraway. When he's safe, contact me."

"I'm going with him," Lyla added, "... for the trade. When my father and I return here safely, then we'll come up with a plan to deal with Ingram. Brainstorm in the meantime."

"That's all well and good and self-sacrificial and all, Vin," Cid began, "But how're we supposed to contact you? Y'don't have a phone."

"It's only sacrifice when you're giving something up." He arched a brow. "Think of something. You're inventive."

"What are we inventing, now?" Asked a light, feminine voice from their left. Clarise was leaning against one of the tables there, something long and thin, and distinctly bazooka-like slung over her shoulder.

Lyla paused even as she had begun to turn away from the bar. "Is that a bazooka?"

Rufus tilted his head in Clarise's direction, arching a second brow to match the first. "Nice."

"Neat, isn't it?" She offered, laying it out on the table, and wiping her hand along the small, blue dress she wore. "Won it off a guy in poker."

Rude blinked.

"We could blow Ingram in half," Rufus suggested a moment later, turning his attention to the pair at the end of the bar. "That might take him awhile to heal up at least."

Cid snapped a finger. "Hello, Vin? No phone."

"Maybe you should just storm the gate then. I'll take care of myself." Vincent checked over his shoulder, as if drawn by a noise. "Doubt I'd be able to answer a phone, anyway."

"Half an hour," Lyla reminded him quietly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, hands clenched into fists at her sides, white-knuckled and anxious. They had half an hour to go up four floors now. It was more than enough time, but she had no interest in cutting things close. Maybe Ingram would get tired of waiting.

"Alrigh' then, you go. If you get yourself killed, though, be prepared for me t'beat the shit out of you at the pearly gates," Cid told them, surly.

"No one I'd rather be shitkicked by." Vincent promised, turning on his heel. "But still. I'd rather keep what I can in tact. Don't worry."

Rufus had turns his attention back to Clarise's firearm. "So. Poker. Really?"

Clarise smiled. "Twirl your hair and wear a low enough cut shirt and no one thinks you know what a poker face -is-, boss."

Rufus snorted, a sound that may have been a laugh somewhere along the way. "Alright, touche."

"I'm torn between never wanting to play with you, and -really- wanting to play with you," Reno added with a smirk, downing the last of his beer. The smirk didn't quite reach his eyes as he glanced in the other direction, past Cid.

Lyla had turned to follow the darkhaired man from the bar, discreetly reaching to let her fingers catch against his at their side as they walked. "Thank you for this."

Vincent nodded. "It isn't just you, anymore."

Lyla allowed her hand to fall back to her side, running the other along the banister as they began to climb the stairs. "I know. ... I just want everyone to come out of this safely. ... this part is my fault."

The gunman didn't spare her a glance, frowning slightly. "How do you figure."

"I helped Ingram get as far as he has," she reminded him. "I facilitated it. And I didn't think to warn my father that Ingram might be coming for him. I should have known. I was too busy being pissed off, couldn't even bring myself to take his calls - if I had talked to him, I would have remembered. Told him to get elsewhere." She, too, frowned as they ascended to the next floor. "... who know what's been done to him. It seems naive to think he'd be left unharmed. ... especially because he would have fought."

"He was injured. Ingram might have gotten the drop on him." He supplied darkly, taking another three steps before he added, "And this is my fault, too."

"No, you don't need another thing to blame yourself for," Lyla told him, though she spared him another glance as they went. "... I guess it doesn't matter whose fault it is, anyway, doesn't fix anything."

For a moment it looked as though Vincent might say more, but in the end he did not. Only took the stairs two at a time in long, even strides.

* * *

Clarise followed the redhead's gaze serenely. "They're about to do something really stupid, aren't they." She commented.

"And how," Reno snorted, leaning one elbow against the bar. "Which is weird, cause, y'know. Generally better with the plans than this."

Clarise waved a hand in a fluttery gesture. "Emotion. Always slaps a big Sense Hunting Season sign on everything."

"Bah," Cid grunted, unable to bring himself to slide back onto his stool, pacing the length of a few seats and back. "Storm the gates, eh? Sounds fool-proof."

"Guess we're about to test that theory, h-uh?" Clarise tipped her head. "Should I bring the bazooka?"

"Yeah," Cid told the ginger, "It'll make a pretty big hole. We want big holes right now. Ingram just healed up the little one's last time."

"It was gross," Reno supplied. "But I would say scattered limbs will be a little harder to put back together. Think we got time for another drink before they get back?" he went on, though the smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes, bloodred eyebrows knit together with concern as he swiveled his seat back towards the bar. Things were only going to get worse from here on out, he was sure of that.


	26. Chapter 26

Lyla slowed her pace as they reached the fourth floor, cautious as they made their way along the corridor, reading the numbers mounted on each door as they walked by. 406. 408. She frowned as they drew closer. 410. 412. "Here."

Someone rather more prone to theatrics might have kicked it in, and Vincent considered it briefly. He settled, though, for pushing with a snap to his wrist, letting the knob clatter loudly against the far wall.

No one hiding.

Well. It was a start.

Ingram looked up as door smacked against the wall, smiling thinly at the pair of them from beneath perpetually-unkempt hair, glasses perched precariously atop his nose as they had been before. He had been sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting, hands clasped between his knees. Past him, a large revolver laid across one of the pillows. A number of suitcases dotted the floor of the room.

"Timely. Just like you to be early," he remarked with some note of admiration, nodding towards the shorter of the pair. "Now then. Who will be coming back with me?"

The gunman said nothing, only narrowed his eyes behind the tangled brush of black hair. There were demands to be made, questions to be asked. Accusations he'd have liked to make. But none of them held water now. None of them mattered. He watched Ingram with suspicious eyes, his calm fabricated but iron clawed.

"No one is going anywhere with you until we see him," Lyla said firmly, her voice dark, the end of her statement clearly forced. There was much more she would have liked to have said. Now was not the time. Getting out safely was more important than getting any jibes in, though even that didn't sound quite right. They wouldn't be getting out safely, not all of them, at least.

Ingram's smile hitched a bit wider. "And so you shall. No need to be hostile. Just a bit of business to be done, really."

Vincent frowned, lowering his head just enough to see the blond's expression better. "What business," he said as though there were some question to it that had not found his tone. So far the scientist had been beyond games, the idea of them now irked the gunman.

"Just what we discussed," Ingram said plainly, reaching to lift the revolver from his pillow with one fluid movement, getting to his feet and taking two steps towards them. It was enough to make Lyla flinch against her better judgment, inching just a touch closer to the man in red. Ingram did not seem to notice. "Surrender any weapons you have before we proceed. If you resist, all I need to do is make a phone call, and the good doctor will make the acquaintance of an uzi."

Vincent grit his teeth behind the cowl, annoyed even as he reached for his gun.

There was a pause. He blinked, removing his hand discreetly to check the other side.

Cerberus was already missing.

Lyla put both hands up to show that she was unarmed, her expression hard and unreadable as she stared ahead, boring holes through Ingram's chest. The scientist tilted his head at the two of them, smirking faintly, gesturing towards them with his gun. "How thoughtful. Forgive me for not taking your word for it. I'm not stupid. Turn around, hands against the wall."

It must have been left on the beach, Vincent realized with a jolt, scowling. He removed his hand with a flourish, turning towards the far wall.

It was stupid, but he had no choice other than to cooperate. Caraway's blood on his hands was more than he cared to deal with. He'd have to rely in the others for now. Hope that they were paying attention to his flippant remarks.

Lyla's mask broke and she sneered, even as she turned her back to her former employer, bracing both hands flat against the wall as instructed. She glanced over to Vincent as he cooperated, expression having turned grim. Ingram frisked Vincent first, movement all quick, sudden jerks as he worked his way down, making a small, noncommittal grunt afterwards as though announcing his satisfaction. He was not quiet so impersonal with the brunette, making an effort to take more time as he searched her, causing her to grit her teeth as she stared at the wall, shoulders tense.

Vincent had to physically restrain himself from lashing out in irritation, one eye narrowing dangerously on the blond scientist.

"Good enough," Ingram surmised, taking a step back once he was finished, gun tucked away, though he pulled his jacket open just enough to show the rear end of it, should either of them forget he was armed. "Into the hallway, both of you. Head towards the docks. We'll finish this transaction there."

The gunman caught Lyla's eye, waiting for her lead this one time. The person in question was hers most to worry over, and he would not overstep her authority.

Wordlessly, she stepped forward, leading both men out into the hallway, Ingram taking up the rear quite deliberately. She made her way towards the stairs without looking back, though she could be seen flexing her fingers a number of times before curling them back into tight fists from behind. They passed the clerk at the front desk without so much as a word or spared glance, much the same for anyone they passed once they had left the hotel. Most bystanders were far too interested in their own business to take notice of the threesome as they continued the short walk to the docks. Lyla slowed to a full stop there, pausing to glance back at Ingram, finally. "Where?" she asked coolly.

He smiled in reply, splaying one hand against her back to steer her rather unkindly towards what looked to be a storage shed. "Ladies first," he said simply.

Vincent looked up into the belly of the storm that raged on, closing his eyes for a moment when the cool kiss of water slid across his pale face. He was still here, then, the gunman surmised. Somewhere too close.

Pushing it aside he followed, biding his time.

Ingram paused to yank the door to the storage area open, gesturing for Lyla to enter before him. For Vincent, he gestured with the barrel of his gun, indicating he should follow. Lyla's fists had gone white-knuckled as she surveyed the room. It was dimly lit, the only source of light a lone bulb swinging overhead, but as it had been at the lab earlier that week, it did not effect her ability to see. There, in the far corner, bound to a chair, gagged and bleeding from a shallow wound just beneath his hairline. She lurched forward, quickly closing the distance between them and yanking the gag from his mouth, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

"How touching," Ingram remarked without the barest trace of emotion. "Before we go any further, the question still remains. Which of you will be staying here?" A smile tugged at his lips. "Do you play the part of martyr or traitor, my dear?"

"They're leaving, Ingram." Vincent's voice took on a certain edge, though it remained cool. "Or do you need to get in another jibe before you're satisfied."

Ingram raised a pale brow at the darkhaired man in reply. "Unexpected," he mused. "But acceptable. Go, then, the both of you," he went on, watching the doctor and his daughter expectantly. Lyla glowered darkly even as she loosened her father's bonds, causing him to let out a sharp cry of pain as the rope that had been cutting into his wrists finally fell away.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes on the darkhaired gunman as he spoke. The words didn't feel like enough, but he didn't think there was much else that could be said in Ingram's presence. Lyla helped him to his feet, hoisting his arm around her shoulders as they made their way back towards the door, with him limping as he leaned on her. She paused beside Vincent on the way out, reaching to lightly squeeze his human wrist as a substitute for words, an unspoken promise to return with the others as soon as she was able.

He nodded, not turning to watch them leave. He had to give them time. Enough to make it back to the inn, make it back to the rest of the group. Then they could fight. Gun or no gun, he was far from unarmed.

The door swung closed after them, Ingram crossing the dimly lit room to lock it afterwards. "How noble of you," he remarked even as he did so. "Sacrificing yourself for an old man. Certainly not the outcome I expected, though I have no complaints. I wonder if you appreciate what a wonderful creature you are, Mr. Valentine."

"It has its advantages." he said simply, shifting now to watch the scientist over one shoulder.

"There is no detailed documentation of what precisely was done to you," the scientist informed him, smiling rather congenially as he turned to face the gunman. "Or there wasn't, until now. No one has ever replicated Hojo's work with you, not even in thirty-six years."

Vincent arched a brow. "But you want to."

"There is nothing so exciting as achieving the previously unachievable."

"You think taking me apart will teach you how." The note of amusement in the gunman's voice was dry and morbid.

"I'm not that naive," Ingram corrected him. "But it's a start. I'm also not so foolish as to think that you're going to come quietly now that they're gone. Or that Miss Caraway isn't going to come running back here with the President's dogs to save you. Thankfully, I planned ahead."

"Not surprised." Vincent turned to face him more fully, body tense but waiting.

The doctor raised one hand to snap his fingers, causing a loud thud to sound behind Vincent - the distinct sound of a body dropping to hit the floor, landing on its feet. "Eve," he said calmly, "Take care of him while I call the pilot."

The gunman jerked around, dropping low into a stance of attack, searching the small room for whatever Ingram had addressed.

The woman standing before him was a perfect mirror of the one who had just left, eyes distinctly glazed over, distant, as though their owner were somewhere else entirely. "Yes," she responded as Ingram withdrew his phone from his jacket pocket, her voice as hollow as her expression.

"One wouldn't do you, Ingram?" Vincent asked, eyes on the strange woman as she moved. Spoke. Her voice was the same as Lyla's. But different, too. It was amazing the difference inflection could make.

"One sample is never enough for a study, not if you want accurate results," Ingram explained even as he took several steps back, gaining a bit of distance between himself and the gunman. "Besides, this one is not quite the same. The sequel is never as good as the original. Though I'm sure to your eye she appears a near-perfect copy, doesn't she?"

The woman took two steps towards the man in red, unarmed, but carried herself in such a way that somehow, it didn't seem like that would matter much. Her eyes were empty, drowning pools of blue, the spark behind them dim, if it was there at all.

Vincent made a low sound, circling around her a step as she moved. "Not really."

"Then it would appear you deserve more credit than most," Ingram replied, dialing something on his phone, holding it to his ear as he watched the pair across the room begin to circle each other. "Prepare for lift-off. I'll be there shortly. Yes. Immediately."

She paused in their slow and cautious dance, still for another moment before lunging forward, aiming for the gunman's chin with her elbow, ducking her head to thrust her other fist into his abdomen, using more force than her small frame should have allowed.

The gunman's clawed arm shot up, moving to protect his face, though the blow to the gut sent him stumbling a step. He grunted as he leapt to the side, taking a moment to get himself breathing again before spreading his metal plated fingers, narrowing one eye at the woman.

Was she all there? Was it wrong to hurt her?

Well. If she was built at all like her predecessor, she would live. Vincent shifted his weight, readying himself for her next attack. This time her speed wouldn't catch him off guard.

She launched herself towards him a second time, reaching to strike his chest before following up with a wide blow to the face. It wasn't a particularly stylish way to fight, but she was solid, steady in her every movement.

Vincent dodged out of the way, her blow catching his side, sending him into a sprawling duck to catch himself again. He whirled on his heel, lunging back with claws extended, and when he was close enough, aiming a punch with his human hand at the ball of her throat.

She stumbled back as the punch connected, windmilling slightly before righting herself, snarling as she began to barrel forward, keeping low as she darted towards him, slamming herself against his middle. Ingram had closed his phone and tucked it away, and now watched the brawl with a clinical expression, edging closer as his left hand began to shift beneath his coat.

He let her hit full force, giving with the sudden weight to lessen the blow. For as much as it helped. He latched onto her arms, riding the momentum to turn their tumble in his favor, kicking her off in Ingram's direction.

She slid across the floor on her side, stopping only when she collided with the doctor's feet. He looked down at her in turn, frowning with disappointment as he nudged her rear with his foot, pushing her to roll over onto her front and prop herself up with both hands. "Get up," he demanded, raising one deformed, razor-clawed hand as he stepped over her, advancing on the gunman. She sprung to her feet behind him after another moment, moving to close in on Vincent from the other side.

"Don't worry. The aim is not to damage you," Ingram assured him with a broad smirk, curling his clawed fingers until something indiscernible rose from the palm of his hand; a small, dark cloud of something almost too thick to see through. Another flick of his wrist sent it flying towards the gunman's face.

And here they were again. Vincent jerked to dodge, wondering how he had waited so long. How many times he had to stand, useless, while the world came apart around him. How many times he had to figure out he'd played the wrong card just a little too late.

The doctor only smiled as the poison hit despite the man's attempts to dodge it. He snapped his fingers once, drawing his companion's attention. "Carry him," he instructed her, and with a single nod, she moved forward to put an unkind arm around Vincent's shoulders, sharply tugging him upwards when he began to sag.

"Don't worry, your friends will find out where we've gone sooner rather than later, I'd wager," Ingram promised as he opened the door that would lead them back out to the docks, as well as the adjacent helicopter pad. "Thankfully, I can always count on Lyla to be the bleeding heart sort. When they come rushing in, then I'll have the both of you. Eve can take care of the rest."

Vincent struggled against his already failing body, trying to force it into movement despite it's ever growing heaviness. He grit his teeth, even as the clout to do so waned, his muscles growing traitorously dull and stiff.

At least once more, hissed the chorus of his thoughts. At least once more.

"You'll only hurt yourself if you struggle," the doctor all but barked as he stepped out into the evening air, Eve dragging Vincent's form along behind him, pausing to put an arm beneath his legs and hoist him upwards.

"Stop," she hissed at the gunman.

He ignored them, for whatever that was worth, forcing the banshee howls at the back of his mind to still themselves. To just shut up. It hadn't been so long that he'd forgotten their smiling faces. Whose they mirrored from a life no longer his. They didn't do him much good now, if they had ever.

Vincent closed his eyes, searching the dark recess for the prickle of dark power. It was sleeping through their screaming. Long since summoned, curled beneath the cold waves of humanity he had forced to seal it over. He had called something else by its name, before now. But like his other miserable truths it had not left him. It was safe for now. There was a chance to recover what Ingram had taken. It was in him. He would wait.


	27. Chapter 27

It had taken Lyla longer to return to the hotel bar than she would have liked, but there was no getting around the fact that supporting the weight of another person was going to slow her down. Dr. Caraway limped along beside her, pale and weary-looking by the time they reached the bar, though the bleeding beneath his hairline had stopped, leaving a large patch of dried blood as a reminder of the injury.

"You got 'im," Cid announced, sliding off his stool as the pair of them arrived. "Good, get 'im somewhere safe, the rest of us are goin' after Vin. Clarise got us a bazooka."

The strawberry-blonde smiled brightly. "I'm helpful." She offered.

Cait Sith peered out over the top of Reno's head with a frown. "Where'd they take 'im to, Lassie? We oughtta ge'started righ'now with this rescuin'!"

Lyla frowned over the top of her father's head. "He won't go back to Edge. Too predictable. I'm sure they're already on their way somewhere, though. ... he wouldn't wait for the rest of us to catch up with him. Maybe he-"

Dr. Caraway waved a bit to gain her attention, easing her arm from around his shoulders and using the bar as a crutch, wincing. Moving was more difficult without his cane than he would have liked to admit. "There's an old Shinra military facility near Corel. Built into the same structure as the reactor, they were trying to extend their reach to the Western continent back in the day. It's the closest, and one of the few left standing, you've already been to most of the major facilities. Start there. ... he won't go far. He wants you all to find him."

"Why would he want that?" Clarise frowned, folding her arms to drop into a lean against the table she was perched on the other side of. "I mean. Bazooka."

The doctor eyed Lyla meaningfully, causing her to shift uncomfortably. "You're not going," he told her pointedly, managing to sound authoritative even while injured. Cid made a soft "tch" noise from where he stood.

"Yeah, y'stay here, we can manage without you," the pilot told her. Whether or not he believed it was another matter entirely. If she could get a handle on herself, he knew she'd be good to have around in a fight, but as it was, the girl was like a time bomb.

"We got this," Reno added, pushing himself away from the bar and sliding his nightstick from its place at his belt, fingers closing around the hilt of it eagerly. "We'll bring Drac back and seriously lay the hurt on our mad scientist."

"I'm going," Lyla corrected them. "I have to go."

"Amurnae sure ye oughta, lassie." Cait Sith frowned doubtfully, even as he searched for his dice. "Figure tha's what melty mouth wants ye tae do, an' someone's gotta hold the home guard up, aye?"

"Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what he wants me to do," Lyla agreed, folding her arms stubbornly, cocking her hips to one side as she gave the cat a dubious look. "But without Vincent, what we've got is a bunch of humans. Not that you aren't all more than capable, but we've seen what Ingram can do, even if it was just a little. It was enough. He'll shred you."

"And you think you've got a better chance?" Reno countered, moving forward. "Princess, you don't even know the first thing about how to use what you've got."

"I've got a better idea than I had a few days ago," Lyla shot back, "It might be enough. It's better than nothing at all. If I can replicate what happened this afternoon, we could get past him to get Vincent out. I think it's safe to assume that this is going to take all of us. He won't be waiting for us by himself. He'll have help."

"What happened this afternoon?" Rufus asked with mild interest.

The brunette glanced in his direction, frowning slightly. "A run-in with Sephiroth. We were about to come down to fill you in when Ingram called about the hostage situation. ... didn't want to ruin everyone's evening."

"Oh good. Because ignorance is definitely bliss when it comes to imminent doom." Clarise paused and thought about that for a moment. "Well." She said slowly. "Actually..."

"Now see here, missy." Cait Sith said with a waggled finger, popping up to his feet rather suddenly. "Some ae this number helped tae save th'world, ye realize! Ohh, sure. We may be mere humans tae ye, but Sephiroth thought th'same thing! It has no effect on the tricks up our sleeves."

"I didn't say anything about being 'mere' humans," Lyla pointed out, resisting the urge to do so physically as well. "But humans. As in he'll melt the flesh off your bones. This is my fault, I don't want that to happen to anyone here because I spent the last two years helping him."

"So you go with us and he puts your head through a desk again, or better yet, a wall," Reno groused sourly. "Leaving us free to get melted anyway. Fucking stay here, no one's gonna hold it against you."

Rude stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his cufflinks as he checked his watch, and then his knuckles. "Jenova." He said.

Cait Sith swiveled on Reno's shoulder to blink at him. "Jenova?" The cat repeated.

"What about it?" Clarise squinted.

Cid snerked. "Yeah, gonna expand on that any?"

Rude arched a brow, looking around at the crowd he'd suddenly become the center of. "He's got Jenova in him. Doesn't he?"

"Yes," Dr. Caraway answered, righting himself as best as he was able, though the noticeable wince that followed was enough to make Lyla catch him by the shoulder, bracing a hand against his shoulder to steady him. "... among other things. I haven't seen much as far as what he can do, physically, but it's very clear that he's far from human now. ... I have to admit, does a decent job of passing. Had me fooled for a few minutes... didn't take him long to reveal himself, though. Once he got raving."

"So? We've smacked plenty of Jenova-freaks around before," Reno reminded the group. "We could do it again."

Rude shook his head with a sigh. Of course, when he actually opened his mouth, he was misunderstood. Instead he merely arched a brow over his reflective glasses. "So does Lyla." He said, accompanying the sentence with an indicative gesture. And. We all remember what happened the last time she bumped heads with something that had Jenova in it. Don't we?

Reno watched his partner for a moment, arching a brow a moment later as realization dawned. "Oh, yeah," he said firmly. "You're stayin' here, PETA."

"But I promised-"

"Ah ah," he cut her off. "We'll lock you up and take the key along with if you're gonna keep insisting. Let us play for once. Rude an' I will get the job done, like always. ... Cid can help," he added as an afterthought.

The pilot snorted. "Thanks, punk."

Cait Sith leaned around to Reno's other shoulder. If he was offended for being forgotten in the lineup, he didn't say so. "Home front." he nodded.

Clarise set a hand on her hip, lofting a brow. "So. We gonna get this little show on the road, or what?"

Reno reached up to put a hand against the cat's back, steadying him. "Don't worry, you're comin' with," he assured the robot. "Yeah. Let's get goin'. Prez, what are you-"

"I'll stay here in case he doubles back," Rufus interjected coolly. "I would still slow you down in the field, but I'll gladly put a hole in his chest if he shows up again. Besides. Someone has to make sure Ms. Caraway doesn't go running after you."

"Do you want to keep the bazooka?" The ginger asked, cocking her head curiously.

He smiled thinly in her direction. "Appreciated, but my own firearm should do just fine. You'll likely need the bazooka more than I will tonight. Thank you for the offer, Miss Kaht."

"Let's get goin' already, then," Cid announced in an attempt to rally the group, ignoring the dark glower on Lyla's face as he passed. "Got no time to waste. If Vin misses another of our drinkin' nights, I'm gonna be broken hearted. An' Dukes of Hazzard Thursday is comin' up."

Clarise flashed a grin as she hoisted the large firearm onto her shoulder, though who it was for was anyone's guess. The president, perhaps. Or the pilot. Or herself.

Really, it was all about the same from outside observation.

Rude nodded, shoving his chair errantly into place as he headed for the door.

"Onward!" Cait Sith added by way of battle cry.

* * *

Ingram had wasted no time once the helicopter had landed. When Vincent regained consciousness, he was laid out flat atop an examining table, bound to it by his wrists and ankles, with one thick strap across his middle. He had been allowed to keep his trousers, but his shirt and gloves had been removed, tossed into a haphazard pile against the far wall along with his cowl. The doctor smiled pleasantly as he leaned over the subject, scalpel held loosely in the hand furthest from the table. "Glad to see you came to. I was curious, why did you offer to come? Haven't you suffered enough already?"

The dark man frowned blearily from the flat of his back, his face as impassive as it had always appeared behind the red cloth that covered it. He took a moment to focus on the blade first, then shifted easily onto Ingram's handsome features. "Maybe." He said. "Or maybe it will never be enough."

"Did you come because of some misplaced sense of nobility, then?" the doctor suggested, looking away long enough to set the scalpel on a tray that held a number of silver tools, using his free hand to begin pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. "Atoning for the past because you still don't feel you've suffered enough? I know a great deal about your sins," he went on, snapping one glove at the wrist before starting on the other. "Or did you come just so that she wouldn't have to?"

"Does it bother you..?" He asked, letting his head, only slightly lifted, lay back against the flat of the surgical table. "To think it might all be the same?"

The blonde man set his jaw, teeth grit as he glanced down at his prisoner. "Why should it?" he asked thinly.

Vincent smiled. "I don't know."

Ingram sneered, looking away as he snapped the second glove into place, lovingly running his fingers along the length of the scalpel before taking it from the tray again. "No anasthetic it is," he all but hissed. "... your 'noble deed' will not keep her safe. I hope you realize that. Had she come herself, I would have left you alone. You have thrown your life away for nothing."

"Maybe." the gunman said serenely, watching him with curious, calm eyes.

In the back of his chest, on the rungs of his ribs, his demons howled. Nothing nothing nothing always so willing to die for nothing. Those are are worthless don't have much reason to hold out, do they? DO THEY?

But Vincent only smiled a little wider. "Or. Maybe ten minutes was all she needed, Ingram."

His grip on the scalpel tightened, knuckles going white, showing beneath the blue latex. The tool snapped in his grasp; he loosened his hold on it and allowed the pieces to fall to the floor with a faint clatter. "No. You don't love her insides, like I do."

He raised one eyebrow with interest, blinking slowly as the information compiled itself into a thought. Aloud he said, "That's probably a good thing."

Ingram snapped up a replacement for his broken scalpel, turning on his heel to face the man on the table. "She's confused. Upset. When she's calm, she'll come back. She'll come back," he repeated, almost spitting the words, "and I'll study her insides, and we'll be together. She will forget she had you to hide behind for a day."

Vincent closed his eyes, body still and strung beneath the restraints. "How long have you been gone, Ingram." He murmured thoughtfully, voice low and thick with the heavy rasp. "I wonder."

"I haven't gone anywhere," the blonde insisted, knifehand hovering several inches above the other man's scarred chest. "I see things much more clearly now."

"Is that what she tells you? Or someone else."

Ingram narrowed his eyes sharply. "Of course you couldn't understand."

Whatever Vincent's reply had been, it was cut at its root by the sudden, thick creak of the building around them. Dust, from high above their heads, slipping somehow through the new and yawning gaps in the ceilings, tumbled down between them. Small chips of the foundation that should never have seen the light of day.

The doctor stiffened, throwing an arm up to shield himself from the debris that fell around them even as he looked upwards. "Company."

Vincent closed one eye against the onslaught on pebbles. "Did you put tea on?"

There was another thunk, this one sharper and metallic. And then the wall directly to their right ripped free with the shriek of tearing steel.

Ingram only smiled to himself. "Welcome home, Prometheus."

Well. The gunman had to admit that was not exactly the party he had been expecting.

Sephiroth raised his head, wasting no time as he crossed the room in a few long strides. "You." He said, eyes on the scientist as the distance closed between them. "You are in my memories."

"Am I? How unexpected," the scientist remarked, canting his head slightly. "I don't believe we've ever met face to face. You've arrived just in time, however. Your other should be here shortly."

The large man sheathed the sword between them, coming to a halt when he loomed over Ingram. "My other." He said quietly, though somehow it carried. Vincent felt the chill in the room thicken. "So many others. You worked on Gast's projects. Tell me. That means he's dead, doesn't it. Or is that another lie."

"Gast Faremis is dead," Ingram confirmed, unmoving, seemingly unbothered by the silver-haired man's presence. He stood still as ever, calmer than he had been when talking to Vincent, somehow. "Shot by Professor Hojo."

The answer seemed to enrage the Soldier, however inexplicably. He flexed his fingers convulsively, turning in a small, irate circle as he paced out the thought. "And that hack, Hojo?" His lip curled with the asking.

"Deceased," Ingram informed him, spreading the fingers of his free hand wide. "By the hand of our guest here."

Sephiroth wheeled on one foot, slamming his weight onto the table against the palm of his left hand. Leaning close over Vincent as if he might examine him. "From yesterday." He remarked, as if the thought took a moment in coming. And when it did, long, pale fingers slid gently over the gunman's throat. Mimicking a strangle's hold. "You lived."

Vincent closed his eyes. Well, the situation had officially gotten better. Awesome.

"Not for very much longer," the scientist informed him, taking a step back to allow their guest a bit more space to 'converse' with the man on the table. Behind him, Lyla's mirror had approached the doorway, lightly leaning against its frame to watch.

Vincent wondered if he was expected to make a comment on that. But in the next moment, his imminent murderer removed any need. Sephiroth straitened to look over his shoulder, eyes falling on Eve, and then on Ingram in turn. "Prometheus." He murmured. "Pandora. Monstrous creations. You... want to make mother a thousand incubators... don't you."

"They've already been made without my aid or interference," the blond reminded him, still unmoved by Sephiroth's presence. Fearless. "All I want is to bring you back together. Make you whole once more. Doesn't it ache to be apart? Together you may find peace. Together we may see what you were truly made for."

"What I was made for?" His eyes widened slightly, taking deliberate steps towards the scientist, his hold on Vincent's neck forgotten. "Do you know. What I was made for?"

"It depends on who you ask. Gast, and by association, Caraway... meant to reestablish the Cetran race. An attempt to heal the planet. Hojo," Ingram went on, and there may have been just a hint of laughter behind his words, "Hojo liked to play god. Pandora was closer to the original mission statement. As you were meant to be. What we got instead were supersoldiers."

"No." He purred, reaching for Ingram's collar and snapping their bodies close together, lowering his head enough to bring their eyes together. "I was made to bring you all to justice."

Even now, Ingram smiled, carefully lifting one hand to press it against Sephiroth's chest, a silent request for distance. "Perhaps."

"Special..." he murmured, and the word turned into the thick vibrations of a laugh. "Special special special. Better than anyone before. Better than anyone since. Favored. Favorite. God and ...Hell. They're, just. Words. I feel like I've been a long time... rotting. Ingram. Charles?" His voice turned high and sweetly strange as he tested the name, before it dropped again. Cold and flat as the clouds outside. "And I'm so tired of all my parents, trying to decide my future."

"Like all parents," Ingram began evenly, "They only want what they think is best for you."

"For me." Sephiroth's smile was wide and handsome. Beatific in the bright, sterile light. "Are you naive, Doctor?" It dropped away with the spikes of sudden ice in his tone, and with a shove, he sent the blond sprawling away from him. "Or do you think I am?"

He hit the floor and slid, jutting one leg out to slow and stop himself. Footsteps sounded behind him, Eve approaching from behind, but he lifted one hand, motioning for her to halt. He paused like that for a moment, before curling the fingers of his hand and clutching at his own head, palm flat against his brow as he cringed, a sharp cry of pain escaping him. "Son. My son. You have always... refused me..."

Vincent jerked suddenly against his bonds.

Oh for fuck's sake. Really?

Sephiroth, for his own, watched the spectacle with no trace of his turbulent emotions. Instead he ducked his head to the side, eyeing the figure from this new angle. "Son. Father. So many people have found interesting names to call me in these... strange times."

Ingram lifted his head; the eyes beneath his messy straw-colored hair were somehow not his own. Darker. More sinister, somehow. He smiled, lips slowly curling upwards as he began to regain his composure. "No. Not merely the man who pieced you together," he corrected. "Though you never knew. Always despised me. Ingrate. I helped you until the very end, whether you were aware of it or not. Never appreciated the life I gave you. All that I did for you."

The pale man narrowed his impossibly bright eyes, sinking down, his posture suddenly tight and hostile. "Pieced me..." He hissed. "Destroyed me? Built me? Who are you to me? Your experiments were your own pastime, weren't they?" And then he paused, an expression filtering across his face like confusion or horror or unbridled rage. "You murdered Gast. You murdered him. It's you, isn't it. In there, Hojo." He sneered. "You'd call yourself my father?"

"Biologically, even," Ingram confirmed, slowly propping himself up, allowing his hand to drop away from his face. "So your mother and the doctors all told me. Faremis brought his death on himself. Refused... to step aside. The project was at risk... he was keeping Ilfalna from us. We needed her... for Pandora." His odd smile hitched wider. "I didn't want my boy to be alone forever."

"I ... won't... believe that." Sephiroth said carefully, his tone chill and even. "I ... wont believe that I... could come from such dismal genes."

His smile quickly turned to a sneer. "A quick glance at the record of your birth will prove me right, and you wrong, son." His gaze shifted from Sephiroth to the man still strapped to the table, and he smirked again, struggling to his knees before working his way to his feet. "Valentine knows. Isn't that right, Vincent?"

And then it was Vincent's turn to sneer. The calm that had overrode his face and body melted with the single, violent jerk he gave against the restraints. "A joke, Hojo?" He growled, teeth flashing white against pale lips. "Unlike you."

Sephiroth snarled, turning his face away as though the sight of the blond suddenly made him ill.

"How strange it must feel for you, living it over again," Ingram remarked. His countenance had remained largely the same, but the rest had changed. Mannerisms, speech pattern, and the eyes. None of them belonged to him. "I suppose there's no denying that history repeats itself."

"This wont be the same, Hojo."

"Really?" He took a moment to survey the rest of the room, eyes wandering back to Vincent once he had done so. He smiled. "It looks so very familiar."

The gunman grit his teeth, trying to channel the sudden surge of anger back under control. "All you have is a hammer." He snarled, jerking hard against the restraints. "No wonder the world looks like a nail."

"It's easy for you to talk big when you're tied down, isn't it," the doctor observed, tilting his head to the side, steepling gloved fingers. "Very bold. I suppose you can say anything you like, you won't have much of a chance to prove yourself. I can allow a few venomous words. Let you go down fighting."

"Someone is here," Eve's hollow voice sounded from across the room. She had turned her back to them, staring hard down the dimly lit corridor. "His friends have come. Dr. Ingram?"

"Hojo," the blond snapped, correcting her. She frowned.

"I await Dr. Ingram's orders."

Sephiroth looked the scene over with raised lip, turning on his heel. "What I want is not here." He growled, but paused on his way back through the great hole he had torn in his haste. Carefully, he reached out, laying one hand gently on the thick, cement pole. "But... don't think I'll forget. Hojo. Our business isn't finished yet."

Vincent's eyes widened. "No-!"

And then he pushed.

"Let him have his tantrum," Ingram spat, marching to where Eve had taken up her post as sentinel, grabbing her by the arm as debris began to come down around them. "Go and handle our company, leave Valentine and I alone."

She watched him blankly, even as the walls around them began to splinter and start to crumble. "Not by your orders."

"Look at me," he demanded, pointing to his own face. "I am your master, serve me!"

"You look like him. But you are not. I will not."

The building was already coming apart. Vincent cringed as metal squealed and shrieked, twisting apart. He lay back hard against the table, trying to concentrate.

Come to me.

In the murk, beneath the inky black, something shifted.

Come to me.

He felt it roll in it's sleep. Reaching out but not waking. The gunman grit his teeth, the headache making it hard to think clearly. He was not human. Humanity would not help him now. Wake -up-. Return.

"Shit!" a familiar voice called from somewhere down the corridor, faint amidst the crumbling of the very walls that surrounded them. "Fuckin' place is comin' down around us! C'mon kids, hustle!"

"We're coming, old man, keep it down," Reno's voice followed, growing closer. "Damn it, really wasn't looking forward to running into another deathtrap."

"They are here," Eve informed the thing in her master's body with a sneer, stalking across the room. "Deal with them... yourself."

It occurred to Vincent as he struggled with the bonds that held him, physical and not, that he had to give Hojo some credit. None of his creations seemed to like him much. At least they were intelligent, on average.

"Floor plan readouts say th'power's goin' down thisaway!" Called Cait Sith's voice. "Don' worry, Vin! We're acommin!"

Ingram's body had turned to glower at the door the voices had come through, even as it began to cave in on itself. Turning back to rebuke the woman who had been standing sentinel, his expression contorted when he saw that she was gone, clenching his hands into white-knuckled fists. "Damn it."

"Hang on, buddy!" Cid's voice came from somewhere closer now, and as if on cue, he slid through what space there was left in the door, narrowly avoiding being hit by a large chunk of debris that fell after he passed. "Shit, looks like we're just in time."

"Was your first mark the collapsing building, or the crazy man with a scalpel?" Clarise asked with what seemed to be a note of panicked sincerity. Whatever else she was, willing to be crushed wasn't on the list, apparently.

"Tha's enougha th'ya blighter!" Cait Sith announced, whipping out a yellow microphone as Rude moved past him, fists faintly aglow with the red of powerful materia.

"Hey, you know what's a better idea than talkin'?" Reno all but sneered at the group, darting forward as he whipped his nightstick out of its holster, sending a crackle of electricity down the length of it as he neared the blonde man in the labcoat. He lurched forward, reaching out to strike and taking the scientist by surprise, knocking him hard against his head and sending him reeling. The blond hissed in response, stumbling as his limbs began to shift beneath his coat, causing him to look down at himself with interest.

"Like you're fuckin' one to talk," Cid shot back at the Turk, running to close the distance between himself and the operating table, where he immediately began tugging at the straps that bound Vincent's hands. "You alright?"

"Seem to have misplaced my dignity." He muttered, nodding towards the fight that had suddenly broken out. "Shackle keys."

Rude wasted no time following up after his partner, taking two wide, heavy swings at the scientist, the fire magic charging up as he lunged in for a third strike.

For his own part, Cait Sith grunted as he leapt from Reno's shoulder, dodging between Ingram's legs.

If the assault bothered Hojo further than being knocked about, it didn't show. His expression was one of awe rather than pain as he watched the body's limbs lengthen and shift, hands growing larger, clawed, even as his chest began to expand beneath his clothes and some dark substance began to seep through the cloth. "This is... marvelous."

"Shit," Cid said again, breaking away from the table. "I'll get 'em, sit tight. ... like you got a choice," he added as he ran off in the opposite direction.

"That's...not the right response for that." Clarise squinted one eye in a pantomime of disgust. "Uh- guys. Guys? Does anyone else think he might have lost something? Like, out of his mind?"

"It's a distinct- UNH - possibility!" Reno shouted in her general direction, narrowly dodging a swipe of Ingram's claws as the man inside seemed to become aware of his own strength. "Damn!"

"Cid!" Vincent growled, pulled hard enough to whiplash himself back against the metal slab. "Nh- Hojo."

Cid whirled around and began to move back towards the table, raising his spear as he neared his friend. "Hojo-what? And I got a better idea than keys. 'pologies in advance if I nick ya," he said all at once, before bringing his weapon down and striking the tip against the nearest shackle with acute precision, smirking as it broke from the blow. "Alright!"

The gunman shifted, wrapping human fingers around his far wrist and jerking. "That's not Ingram." he rasped, glancing over his shoulder. "Not entirely, anyway."

"YE DON' SAY?" Cait Sith asked at full volume as he scrambled up the blond's coat, megaphone to kitty lips.

"Other than losin' his fuckin' mind, y'mean," Cid surmised even as he brought the Venus Gospel down on another of the shackles, this time freeing Vincent's leg before moving to the other one. "Great. Fuckin' great."

Ingram's body jerked as a high, shrill keening sounded beside his ear, thrashing violently afterwards in an attempt to throw the cat to the ground. Reno dove in to strike again, this time aiming for the face as he directed a punch towards the scientist's middle simultaneously, making contact only to be flung back against the far wall with inhuman force in retaliation.

The creature smiled, causing the stitching between his lips to stretch and ooze. "Oh. I like this."

"Hey guys." Clarise poked her head around the doorframe, a bastion of semi-safety in the quickly collapsing structure. "Can I play?"

Cait Sith leapt from Ingram's shoulder to Rude's as he lunged in again, then down to the floor before his ride could be flung into the air. The burst of energy and heat from the man's rings nearly singed his fur and he ducked, waving a hand. "Oh, aye. Ammurnae stop ye."

Reno looked up from where he had slid down against the wall, groaning. "Yeah. Y-yeah, do the thing, Clarise," rubbing his head as he sat up to watch Rude knock Ingram's body back several feet, causing him to stumble as his coat caught fire. The creature didn't seem to notice.

The larger of the Turks turned on his heel and dove for relative cover, snapping robot up en route.

At the door, Clarise shifted, hefting the large barrel onto her shoulder. "Hey! This way, handsome!" She waved, aiming the bazooka to fire.

Still somewhat disoriented, the creature looked up as she shouted, curious as he stumbled forward slightly, claws outstretched, dripping dark fluid that began to bubble when it hit the floor.

"Ohew." The ginger shook her head, sliding one high-heeled foot behind her to steady the weight as she shot.

There was no time to dive out of the way; in fact, the creature made no attempt to. Merely stood there and allowed the shot to connect. Standing there one moment. A crumpled pile of burning flesh and other things the next, parts scattered to wherever the force of the blow would take them.

Reno grimaced. "Fucking gross."

"..Ye... don'think he'll get up again, do ye?" Cait Sith asked, scrambling up Reno's arm.

"Smellsworsethanitlooks." Clarise lamented, dropping the shell.

Vincent looked at the ceiling. "Through the hole." He made a gesture, making a grab for his cloak as he stood up. The air bit nastily at his damaged hand when he moved, even concealed against his body. "We won't have time to get up and out."

"Alright, everyone move before the rest of it comes crashin' down on us," Cid barked at those assembled, taking off towards the hole in the opposite wall, careful to sidestep the bubbling mess Ingram's body had left behind.

"Who knows," Reno was telling the cat without much sympathy, steadying the robot on his shoulders as he struggled back to his feet, already growing sore as he, too, made his way towards the newly made exit. "If he does... let's hope this slows him down enough. Doesn't look like much could come back from that, though."

The gunman was the last to the hole, helping Clarise through before pausing, himself. He frowned back at the remains smoldering in the wreckage, tightening the glove around his wrist before taking the leap outside to safety.

Maybe, he thought. Or maybe, it will never be enough.

"Alright, let's get the fuck out of here," Cid groused as he lead the group back towards the ship. "Get everyone patched up. What the hell happened in there, Vin?"

"I want a bazooka," Reno muttered as he followed, almost petulant.

"I'll give you the next one," the ginger assured him, giving the Turk's shoulder a pat as she wobbled past him on the uneven ground.

Vincent finished the clasps of his cloak before looking over at his friend. "Sephiroth."

Cid's face contorted into something beyond a frown, pale eyebrows lowered and knit together, causing his forehead to crease severely. "Day keeps gettin' better n' better. Which, speakin' of, heard there was a run-in with him in Costa del Sol, too. I'm assumin' Sephiroth's the one who brought the buildin' down."

"Ingram told him something he didn't want to hear."

"Threw a tantrum?"

The gunman nodded, adjusting his glove again. Something about it suddenly wasn't sitting right. "He came looking for Ingram. ...He wants Cloud."

Cid frowned, tapping the side of his head. "Confused, maybe."

"I think so." Vincent shook his head. "He wanted confirmation of Gast's death."

"... we gotta tell Cloud. Or Tifa, somethin'. They gotta know to be careful."

The dark man looked up at the weeping clouds with a minute frown, creasing his lips as water spilled over them, sticking at the angles. "When it rains, it pours."

"Clever," Cid snorted.

Vincent shook his head, lowering his gaze again as they fell into step behind the group. "Sephiroth. Ingram. Pandora. Rei. The alien. ...Just when the world was running out of excitement."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I was thinkin' the same thing, really," the pilot admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. "... wanna go back to Costa del Sol and drink a bar while we regroup?"

"God yes."

"I'll buy again. Don't tell my wife. Y'could use the free liquor, I think."

"It's been a week," he admitted after a moment.

"Yeah. Kinda like your worst ever, ain't it? Aside from the obvious one like thirty years ago."

Vincent snorted softly as they turned up the ramp into the airship. "Death is brief."

"But bio-engineered mass-murderers seem to be forever?"

"Gift that keeps on giving."

"Maybe we could drink two bars."

The gunman smirked. "Think they could fit it in a shot glass?"

"If we tip 'em real good, they might feel inspired to try."

"Worth a shot." He shook his head. "This isn't what I signed up for."

"Hey, me neither. I thought I was jus' comin' by to give you a ride. Not hang with the Shinra crew and watch you nearly get sliced t'bits- y'know, gonna stop complainin' right there."

The cloaked man made a noise that might have been a chuckle on a normal human being. "Thanks. For sticking around."

Cid looked over to grin broadly as they neared the airship. "Woulda been a shitty friend if I'd run."

The dark man leaned on the railing, looking out over the ruins of the lab as it caved in on itself at last. "Shame, though."

"Bout the not runnin'? I was just thinkin' -that,- too."

"That." He agreed, flexing the clawed hand. "And that I didn't get to punch him in the face."

Cid had to make an effort to repress a laugh. "That woulda been a story to tell the grandkids. Memory woulda stayed alive forever. Sucks though. Maybe we can turn a picture o' him into a fuckin' dart board."

He caught Cid's eye with a slight duck of his head. "Maybe Lyla has one in her wallet."

Cid looked mildly surprised, but laughed a moment later, heading towards the bridge. "Shit. Y'could sneak it outta there when she's not lookin'."

"Bronze claws are very useful for subtlety." He agreed tonelessly.

"She'll be too busy lookin' at yer lack of an ass to notice."

Vincent arched a dark, thin brow. "I have an ass." He protested.

"Sure ya do," Cid humored him, giving him a single clout on the shoulder before breaking away to prepare for takeoff.


	28. Chapter 28

It was dark by the time Vincent made his way back to the small series of rooms that marked the party's current resting place. Which was irritating, when he thought about it, given that it had been getting dark about the time he'd left to begin with. How long had he been out, anyway? And what did they use to -keep- him out?

He hadn't mentioned the other wearing Lyla's face. It had taken a few beers to process before he'd been ready to entertain the sheer size of the particular shitstorm that represented. Discussion of Sephiroth had been kept to a minimum. And if Cid had anything to say about Hojo, he had kept it blessedly to himself.

But all of these things would need discussing. Preferably before the night was out. And with that thought dubiously in mind, the gunman climbed the last of the steps to the third floor.

Where he found Rufus. Brandishing his shotgun.

Vincent arched a brow. "Caraways giving you trouble." He guessed raspily.

A smirk tugged at one corner of the blonde's mouth as he shouldered his gun, straightening up without the use of his cane - he had been leaning against the wall previous to Vincent's arrival, his cane laying across the seat of the chair beside him. "Not much since the initial stubbornness, but I thought it was better to be safe and sorry. There was another bout of insistence to be let out from the fairer of the two a couple of hours ago. It's been pretty quiet since I called room service and had some tacos sent in."

Briefly, Vincent considered commenting on Doc Caraway's odd display of initiative for a man with a head injury. But two jokes at the assistant's expense was more than he cared for in one night. Instead he nodded, making his way towards the door in slow, even steps. "Mn." he mned, hand on the knob. "They're in the bar, now."

"Is that me being dismissed?" the president asked with interest, lowering his shotgun so that it hung loosely at his side, safety on. "Suppose I could use a break from babysitting. Not that it's needed anymore. No reason to run off and try to be heroic any longer. All yours," he went on, gesturing towards the door before stepping away and grabbing his cane from it's rest place, settling in to lean his weight on it.

Vincent considered making a crack about being the one to dismiss President Shinra. But on the other hand, if the boy was anything like his father at all, he had toyed with danger enough for one evening.

With a faint shake of his head, he pushed open the door.

Rufus turned his back and they parted, the man in white making his way towards the elevator with the intent of joining the rest of their party in the bar.

Both of the room's inhabitants looked up as the door opened with a soft creak, drawing their attention. Dr. Caraway had taken the bed at his daughter's insistence, where he currently sat with her computer open on his lap. "Alive and mostly well, I see," he remarked warmly, genuine.

Lyla had drawn her knees up to her chest, curled up in the chair beside the window with an open folder on the table in front of her, its contents spread across the surface, disorganized. "Is everyone okay?"

There was something... oddly familial about the researching pair, that Vincent could not help but feel a faint shiver of the creeped-out-by. Maybe it would have been adorable, to another audience.

In either case, he stepped fully into the room, leaving the door to sway behind him. "Everyone but Ingram."

"Dead?" Lyla dared to ask, a hopeful note rising in her voice, tinged with something else. "... you were gone almost twenty-four hours. He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

Dr. Caraway grimaced as he closed the computer, setting it aside, eyes tired of reading the same recounts of his past mistakes over and over. He had to admit that he was impressed with how much information Ingram had managed to recover, privately angry with himself that some of those studies existed in the first place.

Vincent considered that for a moment. "Khat nailed him with a bazooka." He said at last. "So... maybe."

The other he didn't answer right away, his suspicions unfortunately confirmed that he had been drugged and kept under far too easily to suit himself. If this body couldn't help him when it counted, than what use was it, really?

"That sounds promising," Lyla responded, though she sounded largely unconvinced. "... I mean, a bazooka. ... that would break someone up into a lot of little pieces. Maybe even the unsalvageable kind."

"I've been trying to look up files of what he might have done to himself," Dr. Caraway interjected, "Nothing but dead ends so far. This may have to be wholly practical research. ... beat him with a variety of different weapons until he dies for real, really."

The gunman cracked his knuckles. "Oh, no." He murmured evenly. "What a shame."

"Which should likely be followed by burning his offices to the ground and breaking all of his shit," the doctor went on. "You know. Be thorough."

"We're not a destructive lot." Vincent's voice was a low rasp against his cloak. "But they might be talked around."

"I'll see what I can do on that front. I'm very persuasive," Caraway assured him, causing Lyla to snort softly from across the room. The doctor managed a smirk as he directed his attention to where she sat, inclining his head slightly.

"Speaking of persuading, could I convince you to give me a few minutes alone with Mr. Valentine?" he asked, causing Lyla to drop the report she had been leafing through.

"Oh. Sure," she told him, easing herself out of her chair. "I'll just go and- well- would you like coffee?" she asked, at a loss.

"That would be lovely. Stand in line about fifteen minutes or so, dear?"

She raised a dubious brow, but nodded her consent anyway before heading towards the door, turning sideways to slip past Vincent and into the corridor.

The gunman mimicked the gesture, turning just enough to watch her make her way out the door, then looked back at the doctor serenely.

The doctor waited until he was certain his daughter was out of earshot before nodding towards a nearby chair, indicating Vincent should take a seat. "I don't suppose I could convince you to tell me what really happened. Even the smallest detail could be the key to putting a stop to this business."

There was a small pause before Vincent assented, lowering himself carefully onto the arm of the chair. Idly fingers finding their way over the buckles of his far glove. "He's unstable." He said after a moment. "Mentally. There's... interference. I don't know how long. Hojo has been in his head."

"That has the potential to explain a great deal," Caraway mused aloud, a frown turning his mouth with concern. Thoughtful. "... so we do not have Ingram alone to worry about. The absolute extermination of that monster of a man must also be achieved. ... and there are the loose projects. I saw the other one, while Ingram had me. Haven't mentioned it to anyone else. I assume you saw her. Eve."

He nodded. "Ingram had her under his control." Vincent paused, thinking it over. "She knew the difference. Wouldn't obey Hojo."

"He used a drug to do it, but there must have been something else if she denied Hojo. Conditioning, maybe. I wonder how long he's had her," he thought aloud, and his frown deepened. "She must be a very recent acquisition. I saw him inject her a number of times while in his custody. Needs to be done regularly. If Hojo lets it slip, she'll be running wild."

"With Lyla's face."

The thought came home a moment after it was voiced aloud. The gunman blinked, suddenly afflicted with a crystal vision of what kind of pain in the ass that was going to be.

Caraway set his jaw as the very same thought occurred to him. "That's going to be a problem. I've no interest in sending you all on a wild goose chase, but it is something that deserves attention. I've been going through the files, seeing what was done to the Pandora Project after my resignation at the start. Terrible things were done to her. 'Training,' more accurately conditioning, I should think. Resulted in a number of violent episodes, leading up to her escape, where a number of Shinra employees were killed. A handful only hurt, maybe. She's likely out of her mind, driven to it. ... project never should have been sanctioned. I never thought that if I took the first, they would make another. I had hoped that the project would be labeled a failure and they would lose funding and cancel it. But Hojo was good at pulling strings."

"He wanted to mate her with Prometheus." Vincent put in, lowering his head in thought. It was easier to say than Sephiroth, somehow. Both names, but one with more distance. He frowned. 50 years ago, the world had been at relative peace. What had the pursuit of progress done? And was there ever any hope to stopping it at all.

"Mhm," Caraway confirmed, a disgusted look crossing his lined face. "None of the higher ups ever questioned it. Turned a blind eye to everything he did, all because he supplied them with their star soldier and aided with the SOLDIER program in ways other people 'couldn't.' I should say wouldn't. His plan was to breed an army of super soldiers between the two of them. ... Gast and I wanted to reestablish the Cetra line. We thought it would be good for the planet. Looking back, we weren't much better than Hojo, playing God. Even if our intentions were good. There was a lesson to be learned about human life. I learned it while working on the Pandora Project, but it was too late. It had taken too long, we were in too deep. Gast was already dead."

The gunman watched his hands evenly, quiet as the statement filled the room in Caraway's low voice. "It seems," He said after awhile, "To be our nature. Playing god when we can. ...For good or bad."

The words weren't meant to be a comfort. He wondered if they were as unsettling, though, for the doctor as they had proven for Vincent himself. What else could one call all the things that they had done. In the last four years. Or in the last thirty.

"So it does," Caraway agreed grimly, settling his chin into his hand as he leaned forward, watching the window at the opposite side of the room blankly, thoughtful still. "The guilt would have devoured me long ago if I'd let it. But there was really... nothing to be done. Gast and I knew what Hojo was doing from the start, even if we did not know the full extent. We knew enough to try and appeal to the president to have the projects shut down and have Hojo locked away, but he was golden to the company. Never listened to us. ... he was allowed to do what he wanted, and there was nothing any of us could have done." He paused. "... not even you, you know."

The gunman looked up, but his expression didn't change.

The words wound in the stillness of the room, echoing with some malice their speaker had not intended. Vincent sat back, letting the touch of the chair against his hips be an anchor, of sorts. "Maybe." He said aloud. "It seems we'll never know."

"I know," Caraway corrected him. "He could not have been stopped. Gast and I knew that you tried."

"I made a crucial mistake." his tone wavered emotionlessly, held steady by the bird's eye view of the memory. Warped over endless, pitiless repetition. "If I hadn't... who knows."

"If you hadn't, then everything would have been the same as it is now," Caraway told him firmly. "He would have carried on no matter what. If you'd killed him, the damage was already done. Dr. Crescent would have finished the project herself, she was as devoted to it as he was. Delusional, even though it was killing her. Once it began there was no way to stop it. You know as well as I do, how hard it is for a creature like that to die. Couldn't have been aborted, ugly a word as that is. Couldn't have been stopped by you or me or even Gast, and he was the best of us."

Vincent's eyes were calm and depthless when he focused them on the Doctor's face. But they moved away again before taking anything in. Nothing quick, every twitch. Every blink. Measured and sure.

"Hojo wasn't my mistake."

"Then what is the name of your mistake, Valentine."

Almost imperceptibly, the gunman's jaw tightened. And for a tiny eternity, it seemed he had no intention of answering at all.

"Lucrecia." He said at last, unwillingly. "I thought..."

"You can't name them separately," Caraway told him darkly. "... it's difficult for me to speak ill of Dr. Crescent, but she was as much to blame as he was. It was their project. Not just his. He did not force her. She went willingly. Unless there is something other than the sorrow they birthed and what was done to you that pains you."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "...No. But I thought... I believed. That she would put a child... her child, before… curiosity." Vincent paused, eyes on the far window as they lit with something cold, and sad. "I tried to protect her... Her baby."

"We all wanted that." Caraway's chin dropped, he turned his head just enough to obscure part of his face from Vincent's view. "I spoke to her. After what happened to you. About the safety of her child. Hoping she would put him first, as a mother should. ... she said it was too late. She would not derail the project. ... it wasn't until he was born and taken away from her that she seemed to express regret."

"I had clout you didn't." He said after awhile. "I knew ... enough. I had no vested interests. ...The President's trust." The gunman shook his head. "I never said a thing."

"... mm. It's one thing to regret," Caraway told him after a lengthy pause. "But another to drown yourself in it. I regret the role I played back then. Deeply so. But regret won't change what I did, or did not do. It's the same for you. What's done is done. What matters now is what we do. The pains we take to change things. Fix what's been broken and fight for things to be better. ... clean up our mess."

Vincent glanced at the ceiling, as if maybe the answer he wanted was sitting there, waiting to be read aloud. After a moment he said, "That's all I can do. ...Fix what I can."

"I believe that you will. What's important is not to let your regret chain you to the past so tightly that you cannot turn your head to see the future."

"The future is the same as the past has been, these four years."

"Everything is coming out into the open now. We can put an end to it all."

Red eyes fluttered closed, taking a beat to imagine the thought. An end to it all. Maybe then, peace at last. And yet.

"Truth is a slow step." he said quietly. This was far from over, yet.

"It is," the visibly older man agreed, going still as he heard footsteps approaching from down the corridor. "Should have asked for more than fifteen."

"Don't worry." He said, sliding to his feet more soundlessly than brass shoes should have allowed. "No rest for the wicked."

"Mn," Caraway consented with a nod. "... well then. You'll forgive me if I overstepped my bounds, I hope. I'm glad we had the chance to talk."

Vincent offered the doctor another nod, turning to take his leave. "Get some rest. Morning will be early tomorrow."

"Thank you. ... for the rescue, as well," Caraway added with a note of uncertainly, unsure of whether or not such appreciation should have remained unspoken. He quickly diverted his attention to the computer he had set aside, reaching for it to appear busy as he heard footsteps drawing closer.

If it had, the gunman was polite enough not to say so. He only paused long enough to pull open the door as Lyla reached it, offering her a serene frown. "You, too." He said.

"Hm?" she asked with a raised brow, pausing outside the door with a capped styrofoam cup in each hand, having heard little more than muffled voices beyond the door as she had approached. "Ah... good talk?" she asked hopefully.

Vincent nodded, wondering how many times he could manage it in a night without his head falling off. "Rest up. Tomorrow will be interesting."

"I'm bad at that," she admitted, "But I can try. Something I should know about tomorrow?"

"We're visiting old friends."

"Sounds like fun. From your tone I'm going to guess I should be using the term loosely," she surmised. "Is it safe to grill my father for whatever information you gave him about what happened? I think I should know."

"You should." Vincent agreed, displeased by the thought that everyone else ought to, as well.

"I'll ask him then. Won't make you repeat it," she told him. "Filling everyone else in tonight or in the morning?"

"Depends on how much is left of the bar." Vincent answered, rather more truthfully than he expected most to believe.

"They were hitting it hard when I passed it," Lyla admitted. "Cid and Rude are going strong, though. Good tolerance, those boys."

"Big." Vincent offered helpfully.

"It helps," she agreed, giving the room a sidelong glance. "I should- well- I'll see you tomorrow? ... thank you, again."

The gunman nodded again. "In the morning," he said simply.

She offered him a small, tired smile in return. 'Thank you' didn't seem enough for what the favor had meant, but she wasn't sure there was anything that would. "Alright. You rest, too."

Vincent was six steps down the hallway before he stopped, turning on one foot to look back the way he'd come.

"Lyla?"

She paused with her foot halfway through the door, looking back over her shoulder. "Hm?"

He hesitated, shifting back again. "You're welcome."

She smiled again, nodding gratefully before disappearing into the room.

_Intermission_


	29. Chapter 29

It was dark, though not the sort of dark he would have expected. He had been indoors, last he could remember, and so when Ingram was finally able to coax his own eyes open, he was surprised to find himself in the almost foreign but natural darkness of evening, rather than the enclosed, hollow blackness one often found within four walls. After some effort, he tilted his head back against the cold, slick tile of the floor beneath him, an attempt to get a better look at his surroundings. Part of the building had come down around him, walls and ceiling crumbled to bits to make up the great spread of rubble that now stood where he distinctly remembered lab equipment.

What had happened? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Valentine had been in his custody, he had come willingly in exchange for the release of Caraway. It wasn't the outcome Ingram had expected, but it had served his purposes just fine. Vincent was a fascinating specimen in his own right; Ingram had been planning to give himself a chance to study Hojo's unique piece of work since hiring him onto the expedition back in Edge. Whether Lyla had offered herself for the trade or Vincent came in her stead, Ingram had what he wanted. In the case of the latter, Lyla should have come running after them to try and save him the second they were a step ahead. Ingram had worked with her long enough, knew her well enough to be sure of that. His former assistant was a bleeding heart if nothing else, he was sure he knew what to expect of her. She would come running and then he would have the both of them in his grasp, everything he needed to continue on with his work.

So where exactly had he gone wrong?

He groaned softly. Valentine had been strapped to the operating table, and then? … then what? He frowned to himself, studying the night sky above through the faint haze from the traces of pollution, the signature left behind by the defunct reactor the building was attached to. It irritated him that his memory was not only fuzzy, but seemingly non-existent. He recalled being interrupted before he could make the first cut. … that's right. Someone had come to interrupt them, but it wasn't who he had expected. He would have welcomed the arrival of Lyla and the president's dogs, Eve would have been ready to apprehend them at a word, and everything would have gone according to plan.

He had not expected Sephiroth. The name alone was enough to conjure up a clear image of the man, Prometheus himself, all ire and cold fury as he had descended upon them. What then? Ingram frowned to himself, unable to remember. He shook his head to clear it – or tried to, finding his neck too stiff to move properly.

Unable to sit up, he could not tell how badly he had been hurt, and sighed heavily as he found himself forced to admit that whatever had happened, whatever it was that he could not remember, was more than just a minor setback. He reached up to ghost his own fingers over his face, his palm bearing open gashes and too much dried blood for his liking as it passed over his eyes. He grabbed for his opposite shoulder, an attempt to rub some of the persistent pain from it, momentarily baffled when he was met with nothing and felt his hand touch the cold tile of the floor instead. He snorted softly and felt a little lower. Still nothing. He paused in his movement. … no arm?

"Well, damn," he groused, tangling bloodied fingers in his blond hair. There was blood there, too, dried to a stiff and tacky substance, evidence that he had been unconscious for some notable length of time. Yet another problem to solve. Well, unless Sephiroth had carted it off, it had to be around here, somewhere...

"Looking for this, Professor?" A woman's voice pierced the oppressive silence amongst the rubble, and Ingram directed his attention towards it as best he could, still hindered by the pain in his neck and mangled shoulder. The soft tread of boots moving across tile sounded, and he saw Eve appear amongst the debris, approaching steadily with his severed arm, still whole, cradled in both hands. She stopped short of where he lay on the floor, giving him a critical look with narrowed eyes, as though unsure of whether or not she dared to come closer.

"Yes. Thank you, Eve," he said wearily, frowning as he caught her analytical expression. "I'd like you to tell me what happened here. Is something wrong?"

She stared blankly at him, unmoving. "Is it you?"

Ingram looked perplexed, anxiously eyeing the limb in her grasp. "Of course it is. Who else would I be?"

She seemed to consider this a moment before closing the distance between them, kneeling down beside his battered form and laying the arm beside him, mocking where it should have been. "You're telling the truth," she said coolly.

His first thought was to ask what, exactly, she was talking about, but he took a moment to prioritize instead. "Is the limb atrophied?" he asked, forcing his neck to move just enough for him to critically look over the end nearest him.

"Not yet," she told him. From what little she knew about biology, she was certain that atrophy should have set in long before now, but she had found it caught under some debris awhile earlier and was surprised to find it still moving as though it were still attached to the doctor's nervous system.

"Good. Slide it up an inch or so – there. That's a good girl. It will knit itself back together." He grimaced as he felt bone and tendon struggle to mend themselves, and let out a low, measured exhale to try and distract himself from the pain. It was only temporary. No doubt he would experience worse in the days to come, but healing was never a comfortable process. "Was that the only injury?"

Eve hesitated, then shook her head, idly using bloodied hands to smooth her hair back and gather it at the base of her neck as she took a moment to remember. "No. Both legs off and most of your torso missing. I put the parts here and they moved on their own. You fixed yourself without trying," she recounted, looking only mildly uncomfortable. "I didn't think you could repair that much damage. They used a bazooka." She paused. "You were not yourself."

"I gathered something had been amiss when you were hesitant to come near me. Who used a bazooka? Did Valentine's friends come to take him back?" He stopped himself and chose to rephrase it all into a single question. "Eve. Can you tell me what happened?"

"You changed when Sephiroth came," she told him plainly, reaching to straighten the sleeve of his torn and stained labcoat, as though such a thing would make a difference. "It was like you left your body entirely. … Hojo. They both called you Hojo," she continued, and her expression darkened, eyes less vacant than they had been when Vincent first saw her in Costa del Sol, voice less hollow, much closer to being a person now. The look she gave him then was hateful. "I would not follow his orders. Never again."

A frown flickered across his lips, concerned, and yet intrigued at the same time. Her mention of following orders served as a reminder, and he carefully reached out with his newly-mended arm to lay a hand over hers. "When was the last time we gave you your medicine?" he asked, his tone warm and good-natured despite the situation.

She blinked, making no move to pull away. "This morning. Should I continue?"

"Of course. Help me up and I'll fetch it while you tell me the rest." With her assistance, Ingram managed to get to his feet, finding himself unsteady at first, but straightening up after a moment or two of being upright. He carefully made his way over to the console along the wall that was still partially standing, thankful that the computer itself still seemed to be functioning. At the very least, the monitor was on, and all of the necessary lights indicated that everything was in working order. He would investigate that later. He reached into the black bag that sat beside it instead, fumbling around until he produced a small, silver case from within. He flipped it open to reveal a syringe and a small bottle made of brown glass, full nearly to the stopper with a clear liquid.

"I wouldn't help him," Eve was saying, watching him passively as she turned a fallen chair right-side-up and helped herself to it. "Then the others came. Sephiroth left before they reached the lab. They set your specimen free and one of them shot at you while you fought with the rest. That's why there were so many pieces."

"Which of them came?" Ingram asked her tersely, drawing the liquid into the syringe before capping the bottle and setting it safely aside. "Did Lyla come?" If she had made herself available and he had missed the opportunity to capture her, he just might have to break something.

Eve shook her head. "No. The pilot and the two men in blue, the cat, and a woman you hadn't mentioned before."

Ingram frowned decidedly as he moved behind her, taking her hair and carefully moving it aside without invitation. "I see. Hold still, now," he told her, and the woman closed her eyes and gripped the arms of the chair as she felt the cold prick of the needle at the back of her neck, sinking deep as he injected its contents. He withdrew the needle and she relaxed, shoulders easing as she leaned back in her chair. "How's that?"

"Better," she told him, and her voice was hollow once more, distant, as though no one was home.

Ingram smiled to himself. Well, that had been a near miss. If he had been out much longer, his newest toy might have run off on him. It was an incredible stroke of luck, really, finding her when he did. It had been the day after the scuffle in his office, though he had been tracking her movements for some time. A woman like Eve tended to draw a lot of attention. Violent, brash, indiscrete, making headlines every now and then with the trouble she'd start wherever she went. He had first noticed the paper trail a year before, when reports of a woman with unparalleled strength causing a number of nasty barfights ending in critical injuries kept popping up in the local paper. It seemed worth looking into, even if she didn't turn out to be the other missing Pandora project.

His chance had come, remarkably, immediately after Lyla had stormed into his office to share her revelation with him. The Kalm Tribune had announced that the woman who had been the plague of the areas bars and backstreets for months had been arrested on suspicion of manslaughter. Ingram had made his way to Kalm immediately, presenting the authorities there with an ironclad alibi and insisting that the woman they had taken into custody was his sister. He had paid her bail, with an additional cushion of hush money, and that was all it took for the police to deliver her into his hands. How convenient, he thought, that the law was so corrupt these days that even innocence could be bought.

Eve, while grateful for the assistance, had been just as angry and bullheaded as the reports had suggested, and so Ingram was glad he had come prepared. Her gratitude was genuine, but that wasn't enough to keep her from running off on him, and that was something he simply could not allow. The drug was something he had developed in anticipation of having unruly projects to deal with; it was a sedative more than anything, though he supposed the extent to which it worked might have suggested mind-control to some. It had been a great help in keeping Eve relaxed and cooperative. Much easier to control.

Three days in his care was not enough time to build true trust and loyalty, but with the help of medicine, it was enough to manufacture it.

"Now," he began, circling around to stand in front of her, crooking his index finger and tucking it beneath her chin to lift her face towards him. "What are we going to do about that troublesome bunch? They have what I need."

"Kill them?" she suggested, hollow and yet somehow hopeful.

"How very base," Ingram chided her, "Although if you happen to dispose of one or two of them in the process, whose to say it's not an accident? We need Lyla, and I want Valentine. We need to get them back to someplace secure. If I have her, Prometheus will come running on his own," he reasoned, "And we'll be ready this time. I was caught off-guard. I need time to find out what happened to me." He frowned again. He did not care much for losing control, least of all over himself.

"You're falling apart," Eve observed blankly. "You need to rest. You can't work like this."

"Perhaps you're right," Ingram agreed, heaving a sigh. He looked Lyla's mirror over and smiled. "Though leave it to a woman to fuss. I'll rest, and let them play with Prometheus for a day or so. I'm sure they'll make headlines whenever Sephiroth catches up to them, at any rate. After I've had some sleep and something to eat, I'll look into this Hojo business. Very curious. … very disconcerting," he mused aloud, reaching for the bag he had left beside the console.

"Back to Edge?" she asked him with a slight tilt of her head, an odd and rigid sort of motion, a little too inhuman to be called natural.

"Capital idea," he told her, holding a hand out to her. "Let's go home, darling. Back to work tomorrow."


	30. Chapter 30

Morning was, by far, Cid Highwind's least favorite time of day, yet this morning in particular found him up and dressed bright and early, having swaggered his way downstairs to the dining room their group had assembled in the day before. Vincent had mentioned planning on an early day before last call at the bar, and Cid had been charged with the task of getting a hold of Cloud and asking after his location.

Hell if he was going to talk to that kid without some goddamn tea in his system.

Cid sat heavily in one of the chairs at the long table, coffee and hot water for tea already laid out between various plates of standard continental breakfast fare. Well, he had to hand it to this place, the service was good. Rummaging through the small glass container of tea that had been provided, he found something marginally acceptable and dumped the bag unceremoniously into the nearest mug.

It was as the water poured over it and liquid finally started to darken a shade that Vincent came to sit beside him, looking about the same as he ever did. If the events of the day before had rattled him in any significant way, he kept it to himself.

Instead, he reached across the table without a word and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took it in both hands, and set it to the side of his neglected plate, leaning back until he could stare at the ceiling.

"Mornin' sunshine," Cid greeted him, voice only slightly more gruff than usual thanks to the night's disuse. "I recommend the bearclaws."

"Mm." Vincent mmed noncommittally, watching the ceiling for another beat before settling again. Taking a casual glance about the room to gauge their company. "First ones up."

"Everyone was hittin' the juice pretty hard last night, even Rufus," Cid observed, watching his cup intently as he impatiently waited for his tea to steep. "They'll trickle on down. If they don't, I'll go knock on every one'a their doors an' remind 'em this ain't no vacation."

"Some will be more difficult to convince than others, I imagine." he replied dryly, tipping the mug in his hands just enough to see how thickly the coffee clung to the sides. It moved a bit like tar, sluggish and thick.

Good.

He raised the cup to his lips, peering at Cid over the rim. "Do we have a heading?"

"Just about to call the boy wonder and see where he's at," Cid assured him, squinting one eye at his tea rather suspiciously before deciding he was through waiting. He spooned the bag out and deposited it on the edge of his plate, raising the mug to his lips and tipping it back as he blindly searched his jacket pocket for his phone. "Alright," he announced, flipping it open and scrolling through the address book with his thumb. "Let's see if he's an early riser."

He held the phone to his right ear, keeping his mug steady in the other hand and taking long, measured sips between rings. Finally, after the fifth or sixth, the person on the other end picked up, and Cid sighed impatiently. "Hey, Cloud. Vincent an' I got somethin' we need t'talk t'you about- no, we ain't married yet," he shot back with a scowl, slamming his mug down on the table. "You shut your smart mouth, boy, this is serious!"

Vincent only smiled into his coffee. Well. It was true, then. Cloud was feeling better, after all.

"Look," Cid huffed, "Just tell me where you are. We're comin' t'you. Sorta thing that's best done in person, y'hear me? ... an' we've sort of got a lotta people with us, but I'll explain all that later." He paused. "Oh yeah? Not far at all. We'll see y'before lunchtime, then. Yeah, yeah. Don't hurt yourself, screwball." He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it, then finished his tea in a single fluid motion.

"He an' Tifa took the kids to the Gold Saucer, been there all week."

"Crossing blades with his old nemesis, then, I take it." the dark man quipped, setting aside his coffee as Cait Sith scrambled up onto the table.

"One assumes," Cid said with a nod, reaching for a bagel and taking an oversized bite without bothering to cut it. "Least he'll be easy to find once we get there."

"Good morning," Lyla greeted the three of them from behind, approaching the table and helping herself to a cup of coffee without sitting. She eyed the number of available seats and considered, for a moment, what the best strategic choice would be. Sitting close to Vincent was likely too pushy, even with Cait Sith as a barrier, considering the events of the day before. Too far away was too stand-offish. She decided to take advantage of their convenient placement at the end of the table and circled around to sit opposite him, flashing Cait Sith her most harmless smile as she did so. "You mentioned we were visiting an old friend today?"

"It looks like we'll be able to make good time," the ex-Turk supplied evenly.

The robot, for his part, did his best to look nonchalant as he scooted closer to Cid.

"It's lucky," he added, picking up his coffee again. But if there was any explanation to that statement beyond the obvious, he chose not to get into it.

"Nice tae see 'e's doon something for himself," Cait Sith announced decidedly, folding his arms. "Nae though'I'd see it again."

"Where is he?" Lyla asked with interest, repressing the urge to make a face as she took her first swallow of coffee. She generally liked it strong, but this had almost turned to sludge. Setting her cup down, she discreetly emptied a few more sugar packets than were likely necessary into its contents.

"Gold Saucer," Cid supplied. "''Bout an hour's ride from here."

"So with a little luck, we'll still get there ahead of time."

"If by luck, ye mean in th'rest o'the bairn gettin' themselves outtae bed, then yeah. We'll be needin' a lot o'thae, Vin."

"I banged on Reno's door on the way down, only got a whine in return," Lyla offered with a frown. "I think I heard Clarise up and about though, same for the president."

"They don't show their faces soon, I'll give 'em somethin' t'whine about," Cid grumbled as he prepared himself a second cup of tea. "This ain't no pleasure cruise. ... even if we are goin' to an' amusement park."

"Maybe that news would speed them up," Vincent suggested.

"What news?" Clarise asked, draping herself over the back of Lyla's chair. "Has anyone been outside yet this morning?"

"Nae, Missy." The cat shook his head. "S'still driech ou'there."

"He's still close." Vincent rasped, frowning at the tablecloth. "We have a little time."

"So much for a tan." The blonde shifted her weight a bit. "Who's close? Dr. McCrazy?"

"God, I hope not," Lyla muttered, going visibly tense despite the welcome presence at her back. As the night ran its course, she had more or less talked herself out of the comforting idea that Ingram might remain in pieces, but she thought it might not be too much to hope that he stayed at a safe distance, at least for the immediate future.

"Friend of ours," Cid corrected her, frowning at his tea as though willing it to steep faster. "Gonna go meet 'im at the Gold Saucer today. Important stuff. Think that news'll get the boys in blue outta bed?"

"Well, it's worth a shot, isn't it." Clarise told him brightly, offering Lyla a gentle pat on the back as she turned to make her way back up the stairs.

Vincent watched her go without comment, glancing over at the pilot when her back had vanished around the corner. Cloud was close. But he wasn't the reason for the poor weather. It occurred to him that maybe he ought to mention it more clearly, but in the end, he let it pass.

Sephiroth was already on everyone's mind. No need to call the devil by his name.

"Figured it's no use gettin' anyone's panties in a twist," Cid explained once Clarise had left, his voice darkening several tones. "Not when we're about to blow outta here and hopefully make some progress. Since Shera ain't here to fuss at you, eat somethin', Vin," he went on, finishing his own breakfast.

"How is Shera," he replied blithely, taking a bagel and setting it on the otherwise empty plate. Returning to his coffee with a serenity that was not natural for a man with 15 pounds of burnished metal that close to his face.

"Callin' every two hours t'make sure our innards are still where they're s'posed t'be," Cid told him matter-of-factly. "I ain't even given her any details yet, but she figures I'm with you, so it's gotta be somethin' either real stupid or real dangerous. Used t'apologize for every little thing, now she's crackin' the whip even over long distances."

Lyla smiled to herself, promptly hiding her mouth behind her coffee cup.

Vincent seemed to think about that for a moment before finishing off his drink. "It's Thursday." He observed. "We could be watching TV."

Cid perked up slightly at the prospect. "That's true. Think we got time for it?"

"Well. The trip to the Saucer will be at least an hour, you said?"

"Yeah. That's two episodes of Dukes right there," Cid pointed out sagely. "An' y'need it. Been a rough week an' all. It'll be therapeutic, even if it ain't the same as bein' at home."

"It couldn't hurt." He agreed, rocking up out of his chair as he caught the glitter of Clarise's embroidered skirt returning from her trek.

"Now yer both talkin' mince." Cait Sith shook his head, picking up one of the ignored mugs and dropping his dice inside, casting craps to cure the boredom.

"Any luck?" Lyla asked as Clarise neared her seat again, reclaiming her coffee cup and narrowly avoiding being hit by a stray die in the process.

"I think someone said 'kill me' on the other side of Reno's door." She offered brightly, pausing to tap a finger to her lips. "Well. It was that or 'kill bees.' I'm not actually sure which, really."

"If he's not up in five minutes, play some particularly irritating salsa music outside his door," Lyla advised, pausing to finish off the last of her well-sugared coffee. "Do the same for Rude, I guarantee they'll be here in thirty seconds flat."

"No need," Reno interjected miserably, sitting himself down in front of Cait Sith and resting his chin in his hands, leaning both elbows against the table. "Where we going today?"

"Gold Saucer," Cid told him, the answer now becoming rote and automatic.

"That's gonna be great for a hangover," Reno reasoned aloud. "Rude'll be thrilled, though."

Cait Sith set the coffee mug down in front of Reno, leaving one white, glove-like paw atop it for a moment as the dice settled. He seemed to be expecting the Turk to say something, and hesitated before ripping the mug back to reveal the number he had thrown.

"Odds." Said Rude simply as he entered the room, hand still on his tie.

The cat peeked under the rim before peeling the cup away. "Player wins!" he announced.

"Coffee, then." He muttered, indicating the cup in Cait Sith's hand with a flick of his fingers.

"Same here," Reno cut in, shoving the chair next to him out with his foot to offer Rude a seat. Cid stretched as he abandoned his own seat, quickly downing his second cup of tea and leaving the empty mug behind.

"You all do what you gotta do, I'm gonna head to the ship and see what's what. Be ready to head out in half an hour. Like t'get away from this storm," the pilot clarified with a frown. Natural storms were bad enough, but he had no desire to stay near the eye of this one any longer than he absolutely had to.

Standing on her tip-toes, Clarise did a quick count. "We're missing the President and the concussion victim." She observed, frowning a bit. "Someone checked up on him, right? That thing was really nasty."

"I gave him my bed last night," Lyla told her, idly swatting at Reno's hand as he tried to steal half a donut from her plate. "Insists he's alright. He should be down shortly, he was taking a turn in the bathroom when I came down. Don't know about Rufus-" she went on, finding herself cut off by the man in question a moment later.

"You should all know by now, I like to make an entrance," the president informed them with a reserved smile, making an effort not to lean too heavily on his cane as he approached the table and sat down beside Rude. He was, as usual, impeccably groomed, and despite having been away from the bulk of his wardrobe for several days, his suit seemed to be holding up extremely well. "Clarise, coffee."

The blonde tipped a hand as though tapping an invisible button before turning on her heel and heading toward the kitchen. If the manner bothered her at all- well. Clearly it didn't.

Vincent watched her leave for the second time in 6 minutes as he leaned against the far wall. He seemed to be in the process of following Cid before the rest of the party assembling distracted him.

Shinra had always prided itself on strange employees, he supposed.

Cid beckoned for Vincent to follow closer as he stepped out of the dining room, heading for the main entrance of the hotel and leaving the Turks and all the rest to nurse their hangovers or what-have-you in peace. "Cloud ain't gonna be happy to see more'n half the people here."

"That's alright." Vincent said, watching the sky as they headed for the Shera. "Neither were we."

* * *

"So," Reno began as their number filed out of the ship, now docked comfortably at the Gold Saucer's airport. With aircraft being much more common than they were just a few years ago, many cities now had appropriate accommodations, and getting to the Saucer was much less of a hassle than it once was. "Anyone else interested in taking in the sights while we're here? Rude, buddy, I think the casino misses us."

The large man nodded, cracking his knuckles thoughtfully as he glanced around the dock.

The unlucky employee bounding about in a fat chocobo suit was as ever-present as the unsettling maw of the snail-creature at the information booth. Vincent stepped around him in his perpetual circle-dance to make brief eye contact with Cid. Then he turned on one heel, glancing down the hallway. "Just as well. We'll make our way to wonder square."

"At least the kid is predictable," Cid said as he rubbed at the back of his neck, falling into step beside Vincent as they both avoided a collision with the dancing chocobo. Lyla decided to stick with the business-minded branch of their party and did likewise, flanking Vincent on the left, while Dr. Caraway hung back, paused at the rear of the group in conversation with Rufus.

"Well, you all have fun now," Reno suggested cheerfully. "Give us a ring if any excitement pops up."

"Vincent?"

The ex-Turk paused mid-step, turning his head towards the pleasant, if somewhat nervously pitched voice.

"Vincent! Cid!" Tifa Lockhart hurried up to them in the very slightly hunched posture of one who is somewhat unwilling to be caught at whatever she is doing. She took Cid's hand as she reached them by way of greeting, bouncing on her heels. "What are you doing here? It's good to see you."

A small girl of about eight stepped out from behind her, smiling bashfully and waving at those assembled as Tifa took Cid's hand. "Hi," she said at length, toeing the ground behind her with her right foot.

"Cloud didn't mention us then, eh?" Cid remarked, patting Tifa's hand before pulling her into an affectionate one-armed hug. "Figures. Talked to 'im this morning, we're here on business, unfortunately. An' hi t'you there, little lady."

Vincent nodded his greetings, even as Tifa checked surreptitiously over her shoulder and back. Flashing the group a smile.

"Looks like something's up." She noted. "Ah, we actually haven't seen Cloud since this morning. There's sort of..." She paused then, exchanging a glance with Marlene. "Do you think we could ask you for a little help?"

"What sorta help you lookin' for?" Cid asked her, inclining his head slightly. Marlene looked back and forth between the two men for a moment, then studied the unfamiliar woman beside them. Putting both hands behind her back, she stepped closer to Vincent and then pulled one out to wave again.

"I didn't know you were coming to see us," she told him, addressing him directly this time.

"It was a surprise," he agreed, offering her a slight bend and the extent of his human hand. "How have you been."

Tifa glanced back again, and this time, there was the distinct impression she was looking for something. "There was an accident at the track," she began uncertainly. "We've lost Prince."

Marlene took his hand between her smaller ones and smiled, inching closer to the dark gunman and beaming up at him as though she didn't find him intimidating at all. "Good! Busy! We've been here all week and there's so much to see! Are you here to play? Will you ride the roller coaster with me later, the one where you shoot stuff? I bet you're good at that."

Lyla smiled at the scene between Marlene and Vincent before turning her attention to Tifa and Cid. "Ah... who's Prince, if you don't mind my asking?"

"The devil's chocobo," Cid said darkly, sneering. "That demon got loose?"

"They said the latch must have been loose and he pushed his way out." The girl shook her head. "I don't want to panic Cloud. How hard could it be to find one chocobo in an amusement park, right? It's not like they're small."

But there was a somewhat hysterical edge on the woman's voice that told tales of just how hard it could be.

"We'll make time, for at least one." Vincent promised quietly, glancing up. "No one's been hospitalized yet?"

Tifa smiled a little lopsidedly and shook her head. "Not yet."

Lyla offered Tifa a sympathetic look as she folded her arms over her chest. "Oh, honey. You sound like you're having a day," she told her, shaking her head. "What kind of chocobo is he?"

"Demonic," Cid answered, squinting one eye. "Just look for the giant bird feasting on moogle flesh an' you've found 'im."

Marlene dropped one hand away from Vincent's to put against her hip. "He's a gold one," she corrected him, "And really big. He's almost as tall as my dad."

"He's Cloud's prize racer," the dark woman added, frowning briefly before extending a hand in Lyla's direction. "I'm Tifa, by the way. This is Marlene."

"Lyla," the scientist offered in reply, raising one hand in what could almost be called a wave before taking the hand Tifa had extended and shaking it. "Nice to meet you."

"You said you called Cloud." Tifa smiled again at Lyla briefly before turning her eyes on Cid and Vincent in turn. "What about? And- ...and is that Rufus Shinra with you?"

"Yes." Vincent agreed, turning to take in the President and his companion for a moment before looking back into the crowd. "First thing. Let's find Prince before he hurts someone."

"Permission to put the beast out of his misery if he attacks me?" Cid asked testily, narrowing the other eye. Lyla was beginning to get the idea that Cid and Prince had a rather unpleasant history.

"No!" Marlene insisted. "He's our pet, Uncle Cid!"

"He's sort of mean tempered with people that aren't Cloud." Tifa supplied, looking only mildly embarrassed. "He raised him from an egg."

"So keep your fingers clear of him," Lyla confirmed, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her weight to her left leg. "Well. They're not exactly small animals. Between all of us, we should be able to cover ground more quickly, he'll be out of places to hide."

Behind her, Rufus waited until Tifa's gaze moved past him again and offered her a wink and a smile once he'd caught it. He'd caught her bewildered look a moment before. It was always fun to keep the whitehats guessing.

The frazzled girl blinked at him, then, after some minor hesitation lifted his hand in a small wave. It seemed to be harder and harder to tell who was a bad guy these days.

"Well." She said to the group, getting back on track. "Shall we split up then? Come on, Marlene."

"Don' leave me, Vin," Cid instructed, even as Marlene looked torn about letting go of the gunman's hand to take Tifa's. "I don' wanna be alone with that bird when I find 'im."

"I want to stay with Vincent," Marlene voiced, dark eyebrows knitted together as she gave her caretaker a most plaintive look. "Please, Tifa?"

She glanced up at the ex-Turk, silently requesting his input. When he replied with a minute nod, she smiled at Marlene. "Okay," she agreed. "We'll meet back at the tracks, okay?"

"Okay!" Marlene said brightly, renewing her grip on Vincent's human hand. "We'll find him fast, we're a good team."

Lyla smiled at the assembled group, turning one hand up in a half-hearted shrug as she took a step towards the inner ring of the amusement park. "Well, since Cid can't be trusted alone, I'll leave him to you, Vincent. Otherwise we're not split up very much. I'll check Event and Battle Square?"

Vincent nodded as he turned to head off. "Let's get going, then." He rapsed.

"Thank you!" Tifa waved as she made her way back into the crowd. "...I just hope he didn't wander into Wonder Square."

"See you shortly," Lyla called to the rest of them as she turned and headed for the tunnel to Event Square, disappearing into the crowd after Tifa. Marlene began to gently pull the gunman towards the sea of people, looking up at him questioningly.

"Where should we look?" she asked, tilting her head. Cid pointed out the visible tunnels.

"We could start there at Round, then head for Speed. Where'd mama look, Marlene?"

"We've been everywhere," the little girl said with a well-pronounced pout. "So he could be anywhere!"

"If you were a chocobo, Marlene, where would you want to go?" Vincent asked, combing the faces in the crowd for any with hair that vaguely resembled Cloud's- and a beak.

"Speed Square, cause chocobos are fast!" Marlene said automatically, swinging their hands between them as they walked. "But Prince doesn't like to shoot stuff. But maybe he's just running around because the track wasn't big enough for him. He likes to bite, though, and peck at people. Battle Square!"

"Yes." Vincent agreed, following the sloping hall towards the Haunted Hotel. "That's the part that concerns me. ...If he's at Battle Square, Lyla will see him. Maybe we should start at the food court."

"Prince likes food," Marlene reasoned, lightly tapping her chin with her index finger as she tilted her head to one side. "That's a good idea. Maybe you should make a sound like a wounded Gyashl green, though. Those are his favorites."

Beside them, Cid laughed, doing his best to smother it by wiping at his mouth with the back of his gloved hand.

The gunman paused, glancing heavenward and then down again. "...How... would one make such a noise?"

Marlene looked momentarily thoughtful. "I thought you could figure it out. You're pretty smart."

"An' aren't you glad your girlfriend ain't here to hear you try your hand at it," Cid remarked as they neared the hotel, hands sunk deep in his pockets.

Vincent offered him a cool look over the lip of his collar. "Maybe buying some Gyashl greens." he suggested dryly.

Cid gave the gunman a dismissive wave while Marlene tugged gently on his hand, looking over the small, open area in front of the park's famous Haunted Hotel. "I don't think he's here," she said miserably, toeing at the ground again. "He's too big to fit through the front door and I don't see him outside anywhere."

"Food court, then." he suggested, giving her hand an encouraging, return tug. "Might be charming a french fry out of patrons."

Or menacing them and eating the meals they abandoned in terror. You know. Whichever.

"Okay," Marlene agreed with him, swinging a leg towards the tombstone-door that would lead them towards the food court. Cid followed suit, rubbing at the back of his neck as he trailed alongside them, completely missing the flash of gold that darted past behind him as he went.

* * *

On the deck of the Shera, Clarise glanced about blankly. She had broken a heel on the way up the steps, and darted back down to replace it. In the mean time, it seemed, everyone had dispersed.

She tapped blue nails to her lips idly, trying to decide, then, what there was to do.

Clearly the only logical thing was find some trouble.

* * *

The wide, hexagonal area stuffed with restaurants of various quality and cultural flavors was awash with people. If working a low-level, food service job was terrible, this was the ninth circle of it's hell. Small tables crowded too close together were littered with patrons talking too close together and eating too quickly in order to get back to the sights.

Vincent sidestepped a man in red with a startlingly overtaxed tray, putting a hand on Marlene's shoulder to tug her from harm's way.

The girl darted beneath his cloak for cover, staying close to the ex-Turk for fear of being separated. There were crowds all over the park, but they were so thick here in such a small space that it was almost overwhelming. "Do you see him?" she asked, looking up.

Cid was looking out over the crowd with one hand over his eyes, squinting. "Don't see anything that looks like feathers."

"Maybe this is too crowded for a chocobo." Vincent frowned, shifting a bit to look down at his smaller companion. "How high can you see?" he asked Cid, eyes still on Marlene.

Cid turned a judgmental eye on his friend. "You callin' me short?" he asked gruffly.

Instead of answering, the taller man reached down a hand to Marlene. "Do you think you could see better from my shoulders?"

"Uh-huh!" Marlene confirmed, holding both arms up to be lifted. "It's not Cid's fault he's too short."

The expression on Vincent's face as he settled the girl onto his shoulders might have been something like 'smug.' But it was hard to tell around the cowl. "See anything?"

Marlene hummed thoughtfully, careful not to grab his hair as she gently braced her small hands against the sides of his head for balance. "No," she said a moment later, frowning her herself. "He's not here, either! Do you think that lady is having any luck?"

Cid sighed, reaching up to straighten his goggles atop his head as he gave the area another sweep. Nothing even remotely birdlike in sight. "How d'you lose a dam- dern chocobo, anyway?" he asked, filtering his language as best he could for Marlene's sake. "We're indoors, for cryin' out loud."

"...In an amusement park." Vincent added, frowning. "...and Prince is big, even for a chocobo. The whole thing seems vaguely impossible."

"Where else can we look?" Marlene asked with a pout, leaning over Vincent's head as she struggled to get a better look at him.

He glanced up at her through his bangs, giving his head a minute shake. "We may want to check Battle Square. Maybe you were right, and Lyla's found him."

"I bet he would like it there," Marlene reasoned, "He's really mean."

They checked a few more stops along the route to Battle Square, poking in wherever they thought a chocobo might be able to hide, but overall the trip was uneventful.

Most of the rides were under populated, due to a spectacle down at the food court that had garnered some attention.

A man smartly dressed in a burgundy suit had apparently been bitten by a chocobo after his french fries. No one else seemed to have seen it, however, and he was having a difficult time in his zealous complaints to the staff.

Cid huffed to himself as the three of them wandered into Battle Square. It wasn't as heavily crowded as some of the other places they had been; the lobby was mostly clear aside from a handful of spectators watching the series of monitors that displayed the combatants behind the event's brick walls and iron doors. A few participants stood at the various vending machines, eyeing their choice of prizes.

Marlene frowned, resting her chin atop Vincent's head. "No Prince."

Spotting a familiar head of brown hair, Vincent made his way over, Marlene in tow.

"Working hard?" he asked mildly.

Lyla startled as his voice sounded, fumbling with the bright yellow materia in her hands before catching herself against the vending machine, pressing a palm flat against it to support herself. She looked over her shoulder at the gunman and offered him a nervous smile, showing teeth. "Ehehe. I thought I would kill some time while I gave Prince a chance to come through here. And look at all this stuff I won?"

The gunman looked obligingly, quirking an eyebrow as he took in the rather respectably sized pile- considering the amount of time they had been gone. "Impressive." He replied dryly.

Lyla squinted one eye closed as she sighed heavily, painfully close to admitting defeat. "I didn't intend to play when I said I'd look here, but then I got here and saw that someone had beaten my score since the last time I came and I couldn't let that stand, and-" She cut herself off as a remarkably large, gold chocobo trotted over to them and dipped its head to take Vincent's claw in its beak with a single, sharp motion. It let out a low trill of content, and Lyla held a hand out to indicate that their search was over.

"And I found the chocobo," she told him in sum.

"Prince wants to hold your hand, too!" Marlene informed him, waving at the bird from her perch.

The ex-Turk blinked down at the bird all but gnawing on the glimmer of his plated arm. It occurred to him that the sheer amount of pressure would have been extremely painful if he'd had proper nerve endings there.

"Well." he said after a moment. "Let's get him back to Tifa."

"She'll be really happy," Marlene told him, just in case he was unsure of how Tifa would react to her world being set to rights. "You're really good! We looked all over and couldn't find him."

"Oh, just lucky, really," Lyla said quickly, as she was not in the habit of deceiving children and had no intention to start. "He found me, really. ... or Vincent's arm. But the important thing is that we got him back, right?"

"Right," Marlene said enthusiastically.

"You were right about Battle Square," he pointed out as he started towards the exit.

Prince warked irately as his shiny popped free of his grasp, trotting the next three steps it took to snatch it up again.

Marlene giggled, even as Cid moved around to Vincent's other side to keep clear of the chocobo, eyeing it warily as they walked. "He likes you," she remarked, patting the top of the gunman's head. "Well, he likes shiny things, and your arm is pretty shiny."

"It will also need some dents mended shortly." He observed, wincing as Prince clanged on his arm again. God forbid it be a human hand. Cid may have been acting like a melodramatic teenage girl, but he DID have a point.

"I'll bang 'em out with the wrench for ya later," Cid told him flippantly, with little interest in the fact that Vincent might want the job done properly, or at least with a little finesse. It wasn't far to Chocobo Square, being the next attraction over, and he waved an arm over his head to draw attention to himself when he caught sight of a fretful Tifa near the entrance.

"Hey, little girl, found your bird!"

"You did!" she exclaimed brightly, rushing up to meet them.

Prince looked up, hand-in-mouth, and cocked his head. "Wark?" he replied eloquently.

Tifa reached out, carefully detaching the prize racer and taking hold of his reigns. "Thanks, guys." she told them warmly.

"He was in Battle Square," Marlene said sagely, tapping Vincent on the shoulder to indicate she would like to be let down. "That might be better for him than racing, he bites everything."

He set her down obligingly, tucking his battered arm into his cloak to dismiss it from Prince's attention.

"We should talk to Cloud about it." Tifa smiled, giving the gold chocobo's reigns a light tug. "Come on."

"Okay," Marlene agreed, prepared to tag along a safe distance from Prince. "I think he's still in Wonder Square with Denzel." She made a face, one that made it clear she disapproved of this. "They've been there since breakfast! Doesn't Cloud ever want to do anything else, Tifa?"

"He will, Sweetie." She assured her. "Do you want to stay with the guys while I put Prince away, then? I can meet you there."

"Yeah! Can I go on rides with Vincent after we go see Cloud? He said he would take me," Marlene assured her. It may have been a bit early to be asking permission, but she knew how slippery grown-ups could be, and she didn't want Vincent to forget they had made plans. Personally, she felt he was better than that, but, just in case...

Cid grinned at his friend, hooking one thumb into his belt loop as he rolled his left shoulder back to loosen it. "Looks like you ain't gettin' outta that date anytime soon, Vin."

"Okay." Tifa agreed, looking up at Vincent. "You have time, right?"

"Mm." He mmed, nodding. "We'll see you at the snowboarding game."

"Right." She agreed, punctuating it with a nod of her own. "C'mon Prince. Let's get you some lunch."

"Snowboarding game?" Lyla questioned, giving her companions a curious look. Cid merely grinned at her in reply, clouting her on the shoulder briefly.

"Cloud's addiction," he explained cheerfully, "And his curse. You'll see what I mean."

"He's been playing it since we got here on Sunday," Marlene pointed out. "But we always know where to find him if we need him."

"Occasionally he takes a break to race Prince." Vincent supplied, the bare hint of amusement in his tone.

Lyla fell into step beside the gunman as the four of them casually meandered towards Wonder Square, mirroring his smirk with some interest. "Sounds like a man possessed."

"You got no idea, girl," Cid told her with a shake of his head, grinning all the while. "Must be seen to be believed."

* * *

**Authors' Note:** Thank you to everyone who has given us feedback so far! For those who are interested, we now have a simple page set up to share sketches and other things related to the story. Choose our homepage from our profile or simply head to www. fadingdusk .org / origin (minus the spaces, of course) to take a look! We plan to update it regularly, since we have a lot between the two of us as well as contributions from friends and others.


	31. Chapter 31

Wonder Square, while nothing compared to the spectacle at the food court, was crowded with gamers and spectators alike, the noisy din of too many conversations in one place merely a dull roar next to the loud beeps, bangs and whistles that were standard-issue in any arcade. Cid stood on his toes to get a better look as he scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar head of wild blond hair. He smirked to himself as he spotted his prey, throwing his arm out so that it cut across Vincent's chest, stopping the gunman in his tracks.

"Hold on," he instructed, reaching for his phone. To Vincent's left, holding Marlene's other hand, Lyla leaned forward to get a better look at Cid, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

"What are you doing." Vincent asked, though without the customary degree of curiosity in his voice for a proper question.

Across the arcade, Cloud heard the muffled ring of his phone from his pocket. He grumbled under his breath and pressed pause on the simulator, taking the virtual reality snow-goggles and snapping them upwards so that they rested atop his head, causing his hair to stick up in several more directions than usual.

"Denzel," he addressed the boy next to him, reaching out to hoist him up and settle him on the front end of the snowboard he was already standing on, "Lend me a hand while I get this call, alright?" He smiled and handed the goggles down to him, blindly fishing through his pocket for the offending phone.

The tawny haired boy, who had been watching with a very earnest interest, accepted the goggles in both hands with a businesslike nod. "Right!" he agreed enthusiastically, settling them over his eyes with the precision clumsiness that came with being less than ten.

Cloud gave the boy a brief salute before checking the display on the front of his phone, flipping it open a moment later and holding it to his ear even as he helped to guide Denzel in steering the virtual snowboard. "This is Cloud."

"Where're you at, boy?" Cid's voice filtered in from the other end of the line. "Vince an' I are here lookin' for ya. Get off that snowboard machine and come talk to us."

Cloud was glad that Denzel was facing the other way, unable to see the very brief yet panic-stricken expression that fleeted across his face, making him look much like a deer in the headlights to any stray passer-by that might have happened to see. "Hey, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm flattening the competition in Chocobo Square."

"No you ain't. You could be, but you ain't," Cid's gruff voice said pointedly. "Cloud, you have a serious problem with this snow-"

"No, really, I am, I'm between races right now," Cloud lied effortlessly, putting a hand on Denzel's shoulder from behind to steady him. "A little to the left," he murmured as advice.

"You ain't foolin' anyone." And all of a sudden there was a cell phone an inch from his face, snapping shut, attached to Cid's gloved hand. "Knew you'd be here like always," the pilot remarked, having woven his way through the crowd in order to intervene. "Get off that game, this is serious business, Cloud."

"In a minute, we have to finish this one," Cloud informed him, though not without giving him a rather annoyed look. "Don't act as though you're my father."

"I'm old enough to be," Cid said matter-of-factly. "Get off that snowboard game, spikey."

"You are not," Cloud corrected him, "Just a minute. You don't want Denzel to be heartbroken, do you? -This- is serious business."

The boy beneath his hand peeked up through the VR goggles at the arrival of new voices, but he was as intent on the game as Cloud had ever been. "Aw!" he frowned fiercely as he narrowly missed a blue balloon.

If their traditional captain of the proverbial guard hadn't known better, he might have thought Vincent was smirking beneath that cowl. "I am." He said mildly. "Now get off that thing. I'm afraid it's not good news."

Cloud frowned at Vincent's tone. He was used to the gunman being somber, but very rarely did he start a visit with the words, 'I'm afraid it's not good news.' He gave Denzel a gentle pat on the head, grabbing the handrail behind the board with his other hand. "Go ahead and finish up that run, Denzel," he told him, using the hand on the rail to hoist himself off the machine, landing soundly on both feet in front of his friends. He nodded a greeting to the newcomer; introductions could be addressed after whatever pressing business Cid and Vincent had.

"They've been playing this game all week," Marlene was saying, pouting slightly as she let go of both Vincent and Lyla's hands to fold her arms over her chest. Lyla gave her a sympathetic smile and stooped down so they were closer to the same height, giving the small girl a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Now," Cid began, "You know I hate to say 'Sephiroth' to you, but-"

"Not interested," Cloud said suddenly, eyes narrowing coolly as he cut the pilot off.

"Neither were we." Vincent frowned, his voice as even as ever, though it rasped when he spoke. "But he was more than insistent. ...He's looking for you, Cloud. He's using any means he can to find you."

If it had occurred to the gunman that maybe he should have saved this announcement for the end of the explanation, he had clearly dismissed it without a second thought.

Cloud's gaze narrowed further, eyes a calculating ice-blue as he studied what he could see of the ex-Turk's face for any sign that he might be joking. "I would think that'd be pretty hard," he said finally, "Considering how many times I've killed him."

"Yeah, I was startin' to think this was gettin' ridiculous, myself," Cid agreed with him. "But it's for real. He's been lyin' at the bottom of that crater for the last few years, pullin' himself back together. You stopped his last attempt in its tracks, but looks like he don't give up easily."

"Things have gotten out of hand. And quickly." Vincent added.

Very quickly. -Amazingly- quickly. Actually, unless he stopped to consider it, it was difficult to remember that it was only a handful of days ago that everything had been fairly routine.

The gunman frowned, trying to decide how best to consolidate everything there was to say. At least for the moment.

"We're dead." Denzel offered disappointedly from atop the snowboarding simulator, pushing the goggles up into his hair.

Yes, Vincent sighed. That about did it.

"Good try, Denzel," Cloud assured him, sparing him a glance to show he shared in the boy's disappointment. He turned his attention back to the adults assembled in front of him, folding his arms. "So, how exactly did this come to pass? Can I get a little backstory to flesh things out?"

"Kind of a long story and not one really fit for public consumption," Cid pointed out, "But the gist of it is that we've got another crazy scientist after Sephiroth an' various others and Sephiroth himself is all confused an' murderous, the latter bein' status quo an' all, an' he's lookin' for you."

Lyla raised her hand just slightly from where she remained crouched beside Marlene, who looked alarmed by the mention of Sephiroth's name. "I'm 'various others.'"

"It seems there was more to the Jenova project than we even realized." Vincent added, frowning behind the red of his mantle. "A lot more."

Denzel, since the end of the game, had abandoned proper snowboarding stance in favor of leaning on the guard rail with folded arms. His brows knit in concern. If the words hadn't been enough, Marlene's expression helped. Compulsively, he reached out to catch Cloud's sleeve, small fingers missing and curling into the back of his shirt.

"Are you going away again?" he asked quietly.

For a moment, Cloud found himself at a loss for words, dropping into a low crouch so he could look the boy square in the eye. He felt a tug at his other sleeve; Marlene had attached herself to him as well, Lyla drawing up to her full height behind her. Marlene frowned decidedly, shaking her head at the blond man.

"Don't go away again, Cloud," she told him, echoing Denzel's concerns.

"I'll have to talk to Tifa before I make any decisions," Cloud told them evenly, in a way he hoped was comforting. "But if I do go anywhere, you're all coming with me. I won't leave you behind again."

The boy's face lit up at the promise, bouncing on his heels. "Yeah!" he nodded.

"We know how it's been." Vincent continued, watching the display between the trio. "We came to warn you, not to make demands."

"I know. I appreciate it," Cloud told him earnestly, standing up again as a child remained hanging off each arm. "The most important thing is to figure out the best way to keep everyone safe. Are you all going after him?" he asked, inclining his head towards the group.

"Even if we don't chase him, he keeps finding us," Lyla informed him, frowning as she crossed her own arms, a thinly-veiled self-hug. She blinked at Cloud and then averted her gaze, eyes roving over their surroundings as she radiated discomfort.

It was with a passable degree of subtlety that Vincent Valentine took a step closer to the scientist beside him, letting the very edge of his arm brush gently against hers. "The best that we can tell, he's following the energy signature left by mako conditioning."

She glanced up at the ex-Turk in reply, leaning very slightly to her left to discreetly bump against his arm in turn, a silent thanks for his concern. She said nothing; her experience with children was limited, but she felt they didn't need to know everything about the situation just yet. That was Cloud and Tifa's department, to decide how much they could handle, and voicing what had begun to prick at the back of her mind would only cause alarm. Still, it was difficult to ignore that very keen feeling that one was being watched. Closely.

"If it's alright with Tifa, do you have room for four more?" Cloud went on to ask, his tone even and serious. "I don't want to sound like I think I can't protect my family, but if Sephiroth shows up here or follows us somewhere else, I don't want to risk him getting past both me and Tifa."

"The Shera's big enough for everyone, y'know that," Cid pointed out, "And it'd be good t'have you along. Nice t'keep an eye on everyone at once."

"Half of the Turks are with us." Vincent included by way of warning. More for the sake of virgin ears than any danger at this point. He followed the statement with a glance in Lyla's direction, an attempt to read her expression without asking what was wrong. But he had a feeling about it, and it wasn't good at all.

"Sorry I'm late," Tifa offered as she trotted up beside them. "Just double checking everything this time."

"Probably not a bad idea, little girl," Cid remarked, giving her a wary sort of look despite his affectionate tone. The last thing anyone needed was for that monstrous bird to get loose again. No one had been killed this time, but he was convinced that chocobo was going to take someone's arm off sooner rather than later, at the very least.

"Hey," Cloud greeted her softly, his smile more solemn than he would have liked. It would be difficult to discuss the full gravity of what was going on with the kids present, but he could at least give Tifa the abridged version for the time being. They would both require more explanation before the day was out, but only when Denzel and Marlene were safely occupied elsewhere. "How do you feel about tagging along with these guys for a little while? Something's up. I don't think we should be on our own right now."

"I wondered when they said it was important." the hand fighter admitted, folding her arms. "So. When do we leave?"

"Cloud said we could come, too," Denzel informed her, letting go of his adopted father only to take her hand.

She smiled, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze as they entwined. "Did he?" She asked, looking up at the blond over Denzel's head.

Cloud nodded stiffly. "I think it would be best," he told her, his mouth becoming a thin, serious line. "He's back, Tifa."

Cid glanced in Vincent's direction, nodding his head to the right to indicate the two children. "Hey, Vin. Whaddya think about takin' the kids on some rides or somethin'? I can explain everything to mom an' dad here in detail."

The brunette's brows knit in concern, even as her mind raced to supply a name to his statement.

Not him. It couldn't be.

Beside her, Vincent tipped his head enough to glance down at Marlene. "Do you mind if Denzel comes with us?" he asked.

Marlene shook her head, brightening as a smile broke out across her face. "He can come!" she said cheerfully, her concern from only moments before now entirely forgotten. She held a hand out to Denzel, fingers spread wide. "Come on, Vincent's going to take us on the roller coaster."

The boy bent back the better to see the gunman's face, taking Marlene's hand even as he stared with wide, curious eyes. He had seen him before, two years ago. Back when he had still been sick with the geostigma. It didn't seem like he had changed at all, from the red cloak to the solemn eyes.

He was really, really cool looking.

Marlene squeezed his hand and gave him a gentle tug, holding the other out for Vincent. "Come on! We gotta get in line or else we'll never get on!"

The gunman obligingly took her offered hand, glancing back at Lyla over his shoulder in silent question.

Lyla met his gaze, conflicted for a moment even as she offered the group by the snowboarding game a half-hearted wave, following Marlene's lead as the girl eagerly lead Vincent into the crowd. Lyla waited until they were out of earshot before leaning in to tell him, "I'd love to tag along, but I think I'll go see what Reno and Rude are up to. ... I don't think it's a very good idea for me to be around the kids right now, but I think I should stick close to someone who can handle themselves. Just in case anything happens. Pencil me in for sometime after your date with Marlene? I still need to thank you properly."

"Be careful." he said simply, raising his clawed hand for a moment as though he might lay it on her shoulder. In the end he decided against it, but his gaze lingered just a moment too long.

"I will," she promised him, offering a very tired smile as assurance. She waved to both Marlene and Denzel as they emerged from the arcade and walked out into the main plaza of Wonder Square, turning towards the path that would take her to the casino. "You three have fun!"

"She's not coming with us?" Marlene asked as she looked up at Vincent, disappointed.

He shook his head once, glancing down at them. "She doesn't feel well." he said simply. "She'll be glad to play later."

"Who was she?" Denzel asked, trotting ahead of Marlene a step to see Vincent.

"She's a friend," Marlene answered for the gunman, adopting a matter-of-fact sort of attitude. "She's really nice, she helped us find Prince earlier!"

"Her name is Lyla." he added as they took their place in line. "You'll see her again. Do you two want to shoot?"

"Yeah!" Denzel agreed, grinning.

"Yes!" Marlene echoed, jumping once to show her enthusiasm. "You'll tell us all your secrets on how to win, right?"

Vincent nodded as he registered for three guns at the ticket window, sliding the GP across the counter he still had from god knew where. "I suppose, if you two can keep a secret."

"We won't tell anyone, not even Cloud," Marlene promised him, clasping her hands together behind her back now that Vincent's was occupied elsewhere.

"We can totally keep a secret," Denzel agreed, taking the gun in both hands as the ex-Turk handed it over.

He nodded again, all business as he offered Marlene hers. "Well, then. Let's go."


	32. Chapter 32

The casino was abuzz with activity, though the people there were displaying a greater degree of decorum than those in the arcade or at the races. Well, -most- of them were. Reno carried on loudly as he leaned against the edge of the roulette table, a beer in one hand as he watched Rude place his next bet with one eye, studying the young lady to his left with the other.

"Let it ride on black, buddy," he advised, though Rude didn't often need his assistance. More than once, Reno wondered just how his partner managed to walk away from the casino with so much in winnings. He was starting to toy with the idea that Rude might be psychic.

The large man flashed him a grin that was only teeth on one side, pushing his chips with two fingers across the table until he was satisfied.

They had been there some time now, and really, the only thing that made it surprising was that no one had come to find them yet. Sure, maybe they weren't needed at all points of this little carnival, but really, the white hats had been gone a very long time.

As if on cue, Lyla approached the pair of them from behind, having spotted them from across the main room of the casino, walking towards them at a fast clip and slowing to a halt near Reno. The redhead opened his mouth to make some remark about her being a cockblock, but decided against it when he saw that the woman to his left was engaged in conversation with another patron. Didn't matter, anyway.

"Hey, PETA," he greeted her conversationally. "What brings you to mingle with the lowly humans?"

"Hi," she said, raising a brow. "Thought I would come see what you two are up to. Rude winning?"

"Mn." he agreed with a minute nod, eyes presumably locked on the wheel as it began to spin. Not that anyone could say for sure behind the mirrored shades of his latest pair.

The one before had met an unfortunate end off the edge of the Shera from an ill-timed back-slap. Though one might suppose that somewhere over Costa Del Sol, a half blinded tourist was graced with a strange, but appropriate gift from on high.

"He's always on a winning streak," Reno clarified with a smile, making a flippant gesture with the hand that wasn't currently holding his drink. "Big guy's basically a celebrity here. So, any news from the frontline?"

Lyla shook her head, slipping into the empty space next to him and leaning against the table. "No excitement yet. Cid is filling Cloud and Tifa in on the details while Vincent keeps the kids occupied. It sounds like they're all coming with us, though. Probably the best thing for them. It's not safe to stay put in small numbers for very long right now."

"I'd say not," Reno agreed with a half-nod, tilting his head to the side. "Which begs the question of why you're here instead of with the other superheroes, princess."

The scientist offered him a weary but genuine smile in reply. "He could show up at any time, you know. Thought it might not be smart to get caught alone. Dad and the president are at the track, but I figured I'd stick close to someone who can put up a good fight. If you two don't mind."

It was Rude's opinion that putting Vincent Valentine in charge of children was a very odd path to tread. This thought was still bouncing around in his head as he placed his next bet- and sure enough, it distracted him. He snorted, turning away from the table as they dragged off a good portion of his chips to fix Lyla with a level stare.

"It's under control." he said simply, giving her a nod.

Lyla coughed nervously as she eyed the surface of the table and Rude's slightly diminished pile of chips. Well, she certainly hadn't meant to distract him, but she bit her lower lip and offered him a smile as she tried to decipher what sort of look he was giving her from behind his mirrored glasses. "Does talking disrupt the gambling mojo? Curious, since Reno never shuts up."

Reno flashed her a thumbs up, approving of the open jab. "'Atta girl. You're getting the hang of it."

Rude smirked before turning back to the wheel. "It's not gambling if you never lose." he said simply, placing a new bet.

"Really? I wonder what you'd call it, then," she remarked, smirking to herself as she watched Rude lean over the table.

"Highway robbery," Reno said simply, pausing to take a swig of his beer and eyeing a pair across the table as they placed their own bets. "You'll buy me something pretty later on, won't you, Rude?"

"One in every color." he grunted, nodding dutifully.

What, he didn't specify, but knowing them it was either shots or lingerie.

Lyla grinned at the pair of them, tilting her head in a questioning manner. "Do you two ever do anything aside from drink and play gay chicken with each other?"

"Sure," Reno offered, "Sometimes we make funna you."

Rude nodded his agreement, not batting an eye as his color- and number- came up again.

Lyla raised both eyebrows without responding to Reno's remark, clearly impressed. "Nicely done."

"Too bad the cat isn't here to see this." he remarked, smirking at her over his shoulder.

"He'd be proud," she agreed, shifting her weight against the table. "Where is he, anyway? You think he'd be happy to take a tour of the Gold Saucer again. Did he stay on the Shera? I haven't seen Clarise in awhile either, actually."

"Probably wandered off to his old stomping grounds," Reno deducted, taking another long swig of his beer. He frowned slightly. Cait would have been fun to have around right about now. Where -was- he? He glanced back at the table as yet more chips were added to his partner's pile. "Clarise is probably on latte duty."

As if summoned by the mention of trouble, a loud WARK sounded roughly six inches from Reno's ear.

Rude nearly pitched over the table with surprise.

Reno's beer bottle hit the carpeted floor with a spectacular thunk, toppling over and spilling out the rest of its contents as its owner windmilled, startled. He looked up, wide-eyed, and found himself staring into the eyes of a large and irate-looking black chocobo. "Uh," he said eloquently, leaning to the right to see who accompanied the bird.

Lyla waved at the woman holding the creature's reins. "Hey, Clarise."

She waved back cheerily, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Look what I got." she trilled with amusement. "What have you guys been up to? Have you been gambling all this time? You know, it really wasn't nice of you to take off without me."

"Sorry," Lyla apologized, gingerly reaching out to pat the chocobo on the top of its head. It closed its eyes and let out a low, appreciative trill. "I thought you had split off with Rufus, maybe. What kept you?"

"Oh my freakin' God," Reno complained, turning his index finger around in his left ear in an attempt to clear it.

She shrugged, smirking in a very self satisfied way. "So I got into a conversation at the bar with this guy in a mariachi hat," the blonde began, trailing off thoughtfully. "Well. It was wide brimmed, anyway. So! It turned into an argument about depth perception and we ended up playing a few rounds of beer-pong. Which is just weird, when you think about it, I guess."

Here Clarise paused to consider it briefly.

"Anyway. I won a chocobo."

"What the hell did you have to bet to win a chocobo?" Lyla asked, then paused to narrow her eyes at the woman across from her. "... wait, a mariachi hat? Seriously?"

"OW," Reno said pointedly, pulling his finger out of his ear and frowning severely as he hopped away from the table to give Clarise a most critical look. "Did I mention ow? If I go deaf, I'm holdin' you responsible, McHotHot."

"Oh, uhm. I wouldn't worry about that." She waved a hand rapidly to accompany her tooth-paste smile. "I wasn't going to lose or anything. And- oh." she leaned over the creature's head. "Sorry, there, Cap-ee-tan. Do you want the chocobo to make up for it?"

Reno narrowed one eye suspiciously at the chocobo. "Nah," he told her after a moment of thought, shrugging and turning both hands up. "Havin' a bird like that is too much like havin' a kid or something. Responsibility, y'know? I don't want to have to give up my free-and-loose bachelor lifestyle. Plus Rude likes to sleep in, and those things make a lot of noise."

"He keeps me up late." the large man supplied without turning around.

"I should have bet him for a camera." Clarise noted wryly, sliding off the back of the large creature. "So here's a thing. What do I DO with it?"

"Well," Lyla began tentatively, "You could enter it in races and find yourself rolling in semi-fabulous prizes? Or sell it to someone who's into breeding or racing. Cloud might be interested, if you don't want it, though he has this really mean-tempered gold that's apparently his prize racer."

"Prince, right?" Clarise guessed, leaning on the bird's saddle.

"That would be the one," Lyla confirmed. "Tried to make off with Vincent's claw."

"Hat guy mentioned him." She nodded. "Mhm mhm. Apparently he's got a problem with tall, bright and bitchy in a personal way."

"Rivals, huh?" Lyla remarked, canting her head to get a better look at the bird in question. "Well. There are a couple of stables on the Shera, if you need somewhere to keep him while you decide what to do with him. I spotted them when I gave myself the tour."

Clarise gave her avian companion a thoughtful look, tapping her lips as one might stroke his magician's beard. "Guess it can't hurt." She shrugged.

Rude glanced over his shoulder, arching a brow. "No, really." he pointed. "What was your bet?"

The ginger flashed him all of her teeth.

"That means it was something real good," Reno pointed out, leaning forward to study the secretary with interest. "Come on, not even a hint, Clarise?"

Lyla's right eyebrow arched as she looked the ginger over critically. "That means you either bet yourself, or something that doesn't belong to you."

The slim woman put one hand on her hip, snorting in Lyla's general direction. "What sort of a girl do you think I am?" She huffed.

"One with a gambling problem." Rude pointed out, arching an eyebrow with amusement.

Clarise wagged her finger at him. "You don't bet yourself. You imply yourself. Give me the credit of a -little- class."

"This is why I'll never play with you," Reno told her firmly, straightening up only to lean against the table again, reaching to straighten the glasses that sat atop his head. "You cheat. With your breasts," he added, as though the implication itself were not enough.

Beside him, Lyla facepalmed.

"It's tempting though, isn't it." Clarise smirked.

"Wark." the chocobo added, firmly.

The recently reinstated secretary tugged on a lock of her hair absently, eyes skyward. "Anyway. It wasn't exactly an even match. So it's not like putting the Shera up against the bird was much of a gamble."

Reno laughed loudly, slamming one hand against the side of surface of the table and causing some of Rude's chips to create a small landslide atop the green felt. "You bet the SHERA? Seriously? Cid would shit if he knew," he said, grinning. "Even match or not."

She replied with another all-tooth grin, shrugging one shoulder. "If we're going to get technical I never -said- that. I mostly gestured and recited air ship statistics. From my general understanding, he stole the original ship from Shinra anyway, right?"

"That's one of those old, forgotten details I don't care about," Reno informed her with a flippant wave. "Well, aren't you tricky. You're almost as bad as the prez with the carefully-worded technicalities. He'd be proud."

Clarise flashed him a smile that was several less teeth, and by direct proportion, somewhat more sincere. "Creative application of truth is a good college and life skill."

"In the academic world, we call that bullshitting," Lyla said distantly, glancing only briefly at Clarise before turning her head to survey the room. So many people. There wasn't as much racket as there had been in the arcade, but it was starting to be too noisy, too close a press, enough to induce an acute case of claustrophobia.

"Bullshitting implies there was untruth in there." She pointed out wryly, before cocking her head. "...you okay, hunny?" she asked after a moment.

"I think I might need some air," the scientist told her with a frown, fussing with the fit of her gloves to keep her fingers busy. The redheaded Turk raised an eyebrow even as he reached to swipe a drink off a tray being carried by a passing casino employee.

"Thought you wanted to be around someone who could handle themselves," he reminded her.

"You're not gonna flip out and eat anybody, right?" Clarise frowned back, leaning down over the black chocobo's neck to give her shoulder a pat.

Lyla offered the other woman a sideways glance. "I don't think so. Though it's been a week full of surprises."

"Want us to head outside with you?" Reno offered, downing the glass in one fluid motion. The scientist shook her head in reply.

"No, I just... need a little room to breathe. I think I'll step out on my own for awhile."

"You sure you'll be okay?" the ginger asked, kneading at the reigns she held.

"I'll be fine," Lyla told her, giving her an easy smile in an attempt to prove it. "I just can't hear myself think in here. I'll be alright after a walk. You three have fun, okay? Keep up that winning streak."

Rude flashed her a thumbs up before turning back to the table, cracking his knuckles absently as he prepared to place another bet. But Reno was able to catch the edge of a frown as it pushed its way across thin lips.

Clarise hesitated before nodding, offering Lyla a little wave. "Come back, okay?" she asked in an almost girlish voice.

"I will," Lyla promised her, giving a small wave in return as she stepped away from the table and started to turn her back to the trio. "I'll call if something changes."

"Let us know if you need backup, princess," Reno informed her as he turned back to the table to watch Rude, or at least to give the appearance of doing so. His tone was flippant despite his concern, and he checked over his shoulder to make sure the brunette was well out of earshot before he said anything more. "So she's just gettin' weirder all the time."

His partner nodded with a low grunt, straightening up as the wheel bounced and rolled to settle on black.

Clarise, however, made no pretense of watching the scientist go. "She's not coming back tonight, is she." she asked in a tiny voice.

"Nope," Reno confirmed, swapping his empty glass for a fresh one as another tray-bearing hostess passed. "Not so sure about what she'll do with herself, though."

The ginger tapped out a nervous rhythm along her new mount's reigns. "Me, neither." she murmured. "I hope at least it's fun to remember in the morning."

Reno gave her a look that was nothing short of disbelieving, if brief. "Yeah, right," he laughed sharply, turning back to the table. "Like she'd let herself have enough fun for that. You gonna stand there and fuss all night, McHotHot, or are you going to come drape yourself over Rude and distract the competition?"

"Sounds like a plan." She chirped, making her way around the massive bird to stand at the taller man's side, leaning back on her tiptoes to offering him a look that might have better suited perked ears and a lashing tail. "If you don't mind?"

Rude grinned back toothily.

Taking this as a resounding no, the ginger chuckled before slinking against his arm. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was a little sad she couldn't string together a proper joke about the big Turk's bitches.

"Let it ride, big guy," Reno advised, tilting his head to watch the roulette wheel as he tipped back the contents of his glass. No reason not to enjoy themselves just because they were beset upon by something so troublesome as -worry.-

* * *

Even as she emerged from the casino, Lyla felt some degree of relief as the noisy chatter of patrons fell away. The ringing in her ears lessened, if only slightly, and the heat from what felt like the close press of too many bodies began to fade. Even with the absence of the noise from the casino, there was no peace. Here, in the relative quiet of the corridor, she could hear the never-ending stream of thoughts that were not her own more clearly. They had been jumbled at first, but as the days and even hours passed, they became louder, more lucid, more eager.

_Cloud. Where is Cloud? Revenge. Mother, leave me be. Mother, what is it you want? Father, I only want to help you. Don't cry, Loz. Is that where Big Brother lives? Legacy. Mother's legacy. Why am I the chosen one? Because we are special. Become one with the planet. Make the pain stop. Make everything stop. Find Cloud. Revenge._ Rushing in all at once, whisper-quiet, and at the same time, deafening in their insistence.

"Shut up," she muttered, burying her face in her hands as she came to a stop in front of a row of storefronts. The corridor that ran between the casino and hotel served as a shopping mall for various needs, though most of the stores were empty this time of the afternoon, with visitors off seeing other attractions. Lyla was grateful there was no one to see her standing there, talking to herself - or so she thought.

"Hey," a girl's voice interrupted her from somewhere to her left. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up!" Lyla blinked slowly before removing her hands, lifting her head to see who had addressed her. The girl looked to be a few years younger than her, as well as a handful of inches shorter, and stood there grinning with a wide, brilliant toothpaste smile. Her dark hair was cut short and carelessly swept to one side, her clothes implying that she was dressed for combat more than for shopping - not to mention the oversized shuriken on her back.

"I- excuse me?" Lyla asked her, finding the interruption somewhat jarring.

"This way!" the girl exclaimed with a smile that was just a little -too- bright to be genuine. She put a hand against the scientist's back and steered her towards the nearest storefront, gesturing widely to the sign above the open archway that read "Krazie Yuffie's House of Krazie Bargains," with a smaller sign posted beneath it that read "(It's Krazie!)" in smaller but just-as-brilliant lettering. "Welcome to Krazie Yuffie's, here to service all your materia and bargain-hunting needs!"

"Let me guess," Lyla began flatly, "You're Yuffie?"

"In the flesh! And I assure you, everything here is the genuine article, myself included!" Yuffie boasted with another wide, dramatic gesture. "The name isn't a coincidence, you know. I'm sure you've heard of the Great Ninja Yuffie, Flower of Wutai, of course!"

Lyla looked at her for a moment. "No."

Yuffie looked mildly disappointed. "No? How about Materia Hunter Yuffie, the world's most exotic and beautiful thief?"

"... still no."

"Yuffie." came a low, evenly inflected voice. "What are you doing?"

The girl let out a high, curtailed yelp as the familiar voice interrupted what was about to be a fantastic sales pitch. She whirled around and smiled at the gunman, giving him a dismissive sort of wave as she smoothed her hair back with the other hand. "Vincent! What are you doing here? On vacation with Cid?"

Beside her, Lyla offered the gunman a look that very clearly read 'Help Me.'

The fact that that was really almost the truth, in a sick, sick way, didn't help matters. The ex-Turk offered his associate a long, cool look.

After several games during which he had quietly coached the enthusiastic pair of not-quite-at-double-digits sharpshooters, Vincent had returned them to their guardians and set out in search.

Specifically it had been for Lyla, whose earlier anxiety had struck a chord in him that worried. It was more than the gentleman in him that was disinterested in letting Lyla roam unattended, at the moment.

That, and he had promised.

Aloud he only said: "Oh, ha. Very ha."

"But seriously now," Yuffie went on, the girlish charm falling away as her voice went very flat. She gestured to the woman beside her. "I'm in the middle of a sale here, Vincent."

"No you're not," Lyla reminded her, resting a hand on her hip. "No offense, it's a standard practice of mine not to buy anything from anyone who refers to themselves as 'Krazie.'"

"You didn't even let me pitch our super-low-priced Restore materia to you yet!" Yuffie insisted. "You would have come around!"

"They explode." Vincent supplied simply.

"You're going to frighten away my customers, Vin," Yuffie informed him in such a way that it implied a serious pout was sure to follow.

"I won't run, but I'm more inclined to take his advice," Lyla told the anxious entrepreneur, inclining her head towards the gunman with a careful smile.

Yuffie looked between the pair of them and placed both hands on her hips. "You know him?" she asked, followed by a sigh. "There goes a potential sale, then. I'm glad you don't visit that often, Vincent, or else you'd drive me right out of business! Careful, lady, he's a super freak," the ninja went on, cheerful despite her complaints.

"That's my boyfriend you're talking about," Lyla said coolly, eyes alight with a brand of mischief she was careful to withhold from the rest of her expression. If Vincent objected to the label, she thought he would sanction it just this once, at least - it was worth the look on Yuffie's face.

The ex-Turk dipped his chin to cover the sudden cough he felt nearly overtake him. Instead, the cowl simply rose enough to hide most of his expression from view.

The look on her face was, as it happened, more than worth it. But that didn't mean he trusted the expression on his own face.

Lyla shot him a quick, apologetic look followed by a nervous smile when she was sure Yuffie wasn't looking. She quickly forced her expression to calm and neutral as the ninja turned her attention back to her, then looked back and forth between the pair of them a few times.

"Weird," Yuffie said finally, shrugging afterwards. "So, Vincent, where have you been? You never answer your phone anymore. I've been calling you for weeks and your voicemail is all full! I'm hurt, we're supposed to be friends! I bet you answer for Cid."

The gunman cleared his throat. "I lost it." He replied simply.

Well, the ninja was nothing if not quick on her feet for a recovery.

"You dolt," came the affectionate reply as the ninja cocked her hips to one side. "But seriously, what are you doing here? You would never just come to play, you're all old and stodgy. What's going on, Eeyore?"

Vincent closed one eye very slowly to express his distress at this title. For a moment he seemed to consider his reply, as though carefully weighing the consequences of two possible paths.

"Same old problem." he said at last. "Looking for Cloud."

"Oh. Well, he's in the same place as always," Yuffie informed him, "On that stupid snowboarding game in Wonder Square, even though he seriously sucks at it. Tifa has come by a couple of times, though."

"We ran into them earlier," Lyla supplied, discreetly scooting away from the ninja and closer to the more familiar party present. "That's pretty much spot-on."

The gunman nodded, folding his arms. If it bothered him that the subtlety he had attempted to afford the situation was apparently too subtle, he didn't say so. Instead he only fixed Yuffie with an even gaze. "Have you been watching the news."

"Yeah, Sephiroth 'lookalike' sightings everywhere, and you just TOLD me you're looking for Cloud. I'm not stupid," Yuffie reminded him in such a way that it was obvious his subtlety had not been lost on her. "Of course you want my help, right? So let's get down to business, old man. How much are you gonna pay me? Girl's gotta eat and I'll be putting my business on hold to come along with you. Anyway, I know you want my help because I'm so good."

Lyla merely offered the gunman a look that read, 'For real?'

He arched an eyebrow in reply, seeming unflustered by her enthusiasm. If it might be called that.

"Then you know he's on his way here. We don't have very long."

"Okay, fine, I'll put it on your bill," Yuffie conceded, feigning exasperation. "But I don't take IOU's, so no skipping out on me! Think of it as repaying your debt for being such a lousy friend lately! I do take major credit cards these days if you'd rather not pay in cash. There's also a twenty-five gil charge for bounced checks."

"You're serious," Lyla remarked with a raised eyebrow.

"As a heart attack, supposed-girlfriend," the ninja confirmed brightly. "When do we leave?"

Vincent offered Lyla a wry look from somewhere beneath all the red, extending his human hand in a gesture of presentation.

"The flower of Wutai." he said simply, beckoning her with a slight curl of his claws. "Let's get going."

"Fine, I'll just ask Tifa, then," Yuffie told him, dismissing the fact that he had not bothered to answer her. "I need to tie up a few loose ends around the store, anyway. Have fun, and be careful, Cid will get jealous if he knows you're out with someone else."

Lyla smiled to herself as she turned to follow Vincent's gesture, moving back towards the corridor. "She has a point, Cid will be awfully jealous," she told him, hooking one thumb into her pocket.

"He cheats on me with his wife." Vincent replied flatly, and then, somewhat louder, "The Haunted Hotel, Yuffie." Knowing she might at least find Cid in it's bar.

"I'll head there after I close," Yuffie called to him, offering both a parting wave as she ducked behind the cashwrap by the door. "Get the details and all."

Lyla almost grinned in reply, her mouth falling just a little bit short of the mark even as she looked over her shoulder to nod a goodbye to the young shopkeeper. "It's nice that you and Cid have such an open relationship," she teased in turn, facing forward again. "... so. She's crazy."

"Yes." the gunman agreed, eyes forward with some serenity he should not have been allowed, given the circumstances. "It does say so right on the sign."

"At least no one can fault her for false advertising," Lyla mused aloud as they walked, heading towards the hotel at an even pace, occasionally passing one of the miniature potted palm trees that dotted the length of the hallway. "Sorry if I caught you off-guard in there, thought it would be worth it to see the look on her face. I feel it was."

"Not at all." Vincent agreed, amusement muted, but clearly audible. It faded after a moment, though, even as he turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "How have you been?"

"I went to the casino for the company, but couldn't handle all the people," she confessed, looking down as he turned his own gaze upwards. "Too noisy, I had to get out of there. I was actually heading back to the hotel when Yuffie caught me. ... too many thoughts in my head that aren't my own," she went on. "I can't hear myself think."

"You could try not thinking." he offered, glancing over at her as they walked. If he was kidding, it didn't show in his expression. Not that that was much of news.

"It feels odd to admit that I'm used to this sort of thing," she told him, frowning to herself. "Just not so loud. And not so often. ... try not thinking," she echoed, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "Anything is worth a shot, isn't it? ... there's something else, too."

"A mantra." he clarified. "That's what they're for." But the last sentence gave him pause. Vincent looked over, arching an eyebrow to encourage her continue.

Lyla gave him a sidelong glance as she considered his suggestion. He had been right about everything so far, after all. She looked forward again and exhaled heavily. "... I feel like I'm being watched. Not just by Sephiroth. That comes and goes, his attention is a little divided by what's going on in his head, but... I don't know. Just a feeling."

Ah well. And here he had been worried it was going to be -bad- news.

The gunman glanced heavenward again, considering that. "Not Jenova." he guessed.

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "Like a person."

He frowned, turning to give her his full attention for a beat. "Like Ingram."

"Seems the most logical choice," Lyla told him, grimacing as they slowed to a stop for a moment. "And somehow makes me feel a hell of a lot more violated than all of the noise in my head."

"But how." the gunman dipped his head in thought. "Even if he experimented on himself, Cloud .. and I... prove that Jenova cells don't necessarily mean a psychic link."

"I don't know," she said, crossing her arms and sliding her hands up to rest just beneath her shoulders, biting at her lower lip as she discreetly glanced either way down the corridor. "Creeping me out, though."

Vincent watched her for a beat before looking away, unable to reconcile two minds of how he ought to respond. Without looking back, he raised his human hand very slightly, palm up, and fingers splayed.

She hesitated for a moment, looking at the offered hand before daring to reach out and take it, slipping her fingers through his and giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks. She closed some of the distance between them, hoping it would do something to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Vincent, for his own part, said nothing. Only gave her fingers a squeeze that might have been comfort, or nerve endings in malfunction.


	33. Chapter 33

Cloud had waited until he was sure Denzel and Marlene were both sound asleep before he broached the subject of their travel plans. They weren't stupid, he knew both of them would figure out the details of what was going on sooner rather than later, but there was no need to get them more upset than they had to be at the moment. That, and he didn't want them to see how concerned he was. If they saw him worry, they would be scared. He wanted to avoid that for as long as possible.

"So," he began, settling onto the edge of one of the room's three beds. The room was fairly spacious; he had requested one without an iron maiden, for the kids' sake. Thoughtful of the staff at the Gold Saucer's Ghost Hotel to provide family-friendly rooms as well as themed ones. "How are you feeling about all of this?"

Tifa, who had already been occupying the other side of said bed, though her sit was more of a perch, for all intents and purposes, flattened her lips in pensive thought, eyes still on the far wall.

"It's going to get ugly again, isn't it." She said after a moment.

"It is," he agreed, swinging his legs up over the edge of the mattress to stretch them out along the length of the bed. "We've stopped him before. I don't doubt we can do it again. But it already feels different this time, doesn't it," the blond mused aloud. Cid had explained everything to them at length. The three of them had left Wonder Square together and settled on the relative quiet of the hotel bar, where Cid had been able to tell the tale so far undisturbed. From the sounds of it, things were...

"Messier," he finished aloud, frowning. "There's a lot of variables this time. If it was just Sephiroth, I wouldn't be worried. No matter how many times he pulls himself back together, I'll stop him every time. But we're up against more than that. A guy who could be worse than Hojo, another would-be Sephiroth that's following him around, and then we've got the wild cards. That woman they brought with them, and that Kaiun guy Cid mentioned."

The brunette ran a hand through her hair, imitating Cloud's stretch to lie on her back. Turning her thoughtful eyes onto the ceiling. After a moment she rolled over, fixing her companion with a lopsided smile. "At least," she said, "Life is never boring." Touching her lips with the fingertips of her free hand. "But I'm worried. About the kids and..."

Well, 'about you' didn't seem exactly fair, did it. Things were different now. Not just because the world had changed, but because Cloud had, too. Since the remnant incident, he had steadily seemed to regain his feet. Regain -himself.- And there was no reason this fight might take it all away.

Was there?

She hadn't needed to voice her concern. Cloud turned his head to give her a wry smile over his shoulder, leaning back and putting his weight on one gloved hand. "And about me, right?" he asked gently, raising an eyebrow. "Don't worry. I'll be fine." He turned his gaze towards the ceiling, briefly replaying scenes from his last two encounters with the former general.

"I know who I am. He can never take that away from me. I have too much to live for."

Tifa smiled at him, reaching out to set the hand playing about her lips over the one supporting his weight. "I know." She agreed.

And the truth was, that if there was thing in the world she could believe in, it was that. He had told her once that she had saved him, just by remembering his name. By knowing he'd been alive. But if that was true, then how many times had he returned the favor? And even so... last time, she had almost lost him to more than sorrow.

"Do you think... the kids are safer with us, or with Shelke?"

A thoughtful frown turned Cloud's lips as he considered their options. "With us, I think. More people to look after them. The way I see it, Sephiroth doesn't know about Shelke. She's safe watching the bar, he won't go after her. He'd go right for Denzel and Marlene to get to us." To get to me, he silently corrected himself. Just to be cruel. "I'd rather have them where I can watch them. ... it's my job to protect them."

The look on Tifa's face said she had considered this as well. She leaned up a bit, watching the children over Cloud's shoulder. Three beds really had been unnecessary, since they seemed to want to stay right on top of one another this trip. She smiled, seeing Marlene's small fingers curled into Denzel's sleeve. "We'll just have to ask them to stay on the ship." She decided, nodding.

Cloud nodded in agreement, lightly flexing his fingers beneath the comfortable warmth of her hand. "They'll be safest onboard the Shera, and if we're busy, there are plenty of watchful eyes. Besides, if they get restless about staying put, we can always have Vincent remind them how important it is. They like him better than me, almost," he added with a lopsided half-smile. "They might be a little disappointed to hear he'll be too busy to play most of the trip, though. Sounds like it, anyway."

The smaller woman laughed, tightening her fingers affectionately. "I don't know about that, dad." she said, a certain inflection on the word that was as playful as it was warm. "Denzel's been pretty glued to your hip all week. Even if you -didn't- do anything but that one game."

"He understands the importance of conquering it," Cloud told her, adopting a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I'm not even bad at it anymore, you know. Just can't beat that high score, but we're working on it."

Tifa had no more control over the smile that broke her lips apart than she did the coming tide. "Would it really be so awful if there were one game you didn't have the extreme ultimate high score at?"

Cloud attempted to give her what he hoped was a very serious look, but wound up smiling instead. "Yes. That's the only game stopping me from a hat trick, you know. And someone keeps bumping me out of first place at Battle Square, but I always get it back pretty easily. Just a pain."

"Someone's still winning you out at Battle Square?" She blinked. "Hasn't that been going on for years now?"

Not... that the vendetta against the snowboard machine hadn't, mind you.

"Yeah, same guy every time," the blond confirmed, "But I secured first place this morning before breakfast. I should be all set for this trip. ... it's just a game, anyway, but you know." He paused, offering her a sheepish smile as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's special to me."

Tifa tapped the side of her nose with one finger, closing her eye. "Even you get sentimental?" she teased gently. "It's okay. Your secret's safe."

He grinned in reply, holding his index finger to his lips. "I trust you."

* * *

It was late in the evening by the time President Shinra and Doctor Caraway finally rejoined the group. They entered the hotel bar together, Rufus stepping aside to let the older gentleman through the door ahead of him before they chose a pair of stools near the center. At the far end, Cid raised his head and gave a lazy salute as a greeting, looking extremely put-upon by the very talkative ninja to his right. Oh, Vincent was going to hear it for sending her in his direction. Hear it good.

On the bar itself sat Cait Sith, who had resurfaced from whatever it was he'd been doing long about midnight. He seemed to be busy trying to stuff a pair of fuzzy, oversized dice into his fuzzy, oversized ears.

"Oi, Lassie! Shutcher yar, will ye?" he moaned. Not that it was paid much heed.

Yuffie huffed at the robotic cat, leaning around Cid to get a better look at him, irate. "You know, nobody around here ever wants to let me TALK, it doesn't matter what I say," she pointed out sharply, directing her index finger at him for emphasis.

"That's because you've got such a bad track record of bein' a crazy schemer who talks outta her butt," Cid murmured into his beer.

"An yer voice is hard on th'ears." Cait Sith offered, giving the impression of squinting at her, somehow.

Not that he had any footing on which to safely point fingers, one could suppose. Accent aside, he wasn't the most musical of tones, himself.

"Oh? Company approaches!" He announced, albeit belatedly, spinning to his feet. "Eh, now, blokes. Where ya been t'night?"

Yuffie let out a sound 'hmph' as she crossed her arms, slumping against the bar and feigning injury as Cait Sith turned his attention to the new arrivals.

"We were discussing business," Rufus replied calmly, offering the robot that carefully guarded smile of his. Cid snorted to himself a few stools down before tilting his glass back, downing most of its contents in one go.

"At the chocobo track," Dr. Caraway supplied, congenial as he had been since his arrival, proof that his injury was well on the mend.

Rufus' smile hitched just a bit higher. "Discussing the business of chocobos."

"Aye?" The cat tipped his head- and moreover, most of his shoulders- to consider this one. "Heard there was a fair bit of business going on with chocobos, today." he agreed.

"WARK." came a wark, distinctly too close to the assembled group's collective eardrums.

"Mother Mercy!" Cait Sith jumped, grabbing at his small, robotic heart.

"Who the fuck let onna those things in here?" Cid demanded gruffly, looking over his shoulder with his empty beer glass in hand, only to find Clarise standing there holding the reins of an overlarge black chocobo. "... oh. It was -you.-"

Rufus cleared his throat, arching a fine, pale brow in question. "New acquisition, Miss Kaht?"

"I had some free time." She agreed brightly.

Cait Sith, for his part, leaned over the bar and pointed a wholly accusatory, puffily gloved finger in her direction. "How's a wee lass like you go sneakin' such a monster in here like it were a lap-dog, eh?"

Clarise tapped a finger to her lips, seeming to give it honest thought. "Element of the unexpected?" she guessed after a moment.

"It smells," Yuffie sighed heavily, resting her chin in her hand and rolling her eyes in the bird's direction. "Grossness."

"Another poker game?" Rufus asked with a smirk, leaning slightly to his right to get a better look at the chocobo. He looked incredibly familiar. In fact, he could have sworn it was-

"Wasn't that the beast you were betting on for the first hour or so?" Dr. Caraway cut in with a smile, pausing to take a long sip of his darkly amber-colored drink.

"I believe so," the young president confirmed. "Teioh, isn't it?"

"I guess so?" She offered, resting a hand on the bird's saddle and tapping out an absent tune. "Won him off a jockey with a big black hat and a weird accent? -No offense," she added wryly, eyeing half the current assembly. "It wasn't one of yours, either."

"You implyin' that ammurnae weird, lassie?" Cait Sith snorted.

"I... don't know what you just said." She admitted after a moment, before startling stark straight. "Hey!" she jabbed a finger in his direction. "You were dead!"

"Y'just noticed?" Cid asked her, disbelieving. He let out a snort of a laugh as the barkeep passed him another foam-topped mug. "He's been back for days. Even came with when y'hit the good doctor with the bazooka."

"I- I think I repressed it." She frowned, eyeing Cait Sith suspiciously. "Or... did I mention this before?"

The cat grinned at her.

"Creepy." She remarked, reaching out to give his tiny crown a pat. "Well. Uhm. Anyway." The blonde cleared her throat, holding out the reins in the general direction of the president and his elder companion. "For you."

"A white chocobo or none at all," Rufus corrected her with a firm shake of his head. "It has to match the ensemble."

"Your vest is black," Yuffie corrected him from her place at the end of the bar.

"Yes, and will be remarkably less effective if I'm accompanied by a black chocobo. Besides, I have no use for one," he went on. "They're fun to place bets on, but the care of one is an entirely different matter."

Dutifully, Clarise set the reins into Dr. Caraway's hand. If she was at all off-put by the president's lecture, she didn't show it.

The retired scientist blinked several times in rapid succession as he looked down at the reins in his hand, fingers slack beneath them and not entirely sure if he was pleased with this supposed gift, or just confused. "Ah, don't you want it?"

"Nope." She chirped. "Seriously. What am I going to do with a chocobo on a secretary's salary?"

"You're Rufus Shinra's secretary," Dr. Caraway countered, "Your pay can't be that low."

"To be fair, she hasn't seen her first check yet," Rufus reminded him coolly, turning to gratefully accept his drink from the bartender. "Thank you."

"Will you accept 'I might break a nail.'?" She offered, arching a brow.

"Wark." Teioh agreed, inspecting the scientist's jacket with an experimental nibble.

"Cannae say th'animal doesn' seem tae suitcha, lassie." Cait Sith pointed out.

Dr. Caraway lifted a hand and tentatively reached out to scratch the chocobo behind where he assumed its ears were. "Well then. You're not so bad, are you?"

"Acceptable," Rufus agreed with a single nod. "So how did you go about winning it?"

The strawberry blonde offered him a toothy sort of smile that might have been sly, or might have been unnerved. As much as she did like to brag, bragging about beer pong was kind of ridiculous, wasn't it?

"I have pretty good aim when I'm pretending to be drunker than I am."

"Welp," Cid cut in, stretching as he slid off of his stool, now more than suitably warm for anyone who might be brave enough to claim it, "As stimulating as alla this bird talk is, think it's about time I called my wife back," he went on, omitting the follow-up of 'before she comes here herself to murder me for making her worry.'

"You're married?" The secretary asked pleasantly, shifting her weight to one foot. "Wow! That's good."

Cid gave her a questioning look halfway to the door, as though he wasn't quite sure how to take the remark. It wasn't quite like any he had ever heard concerning the situation before. "Uh. Thanks, I s'pose," he said almost sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Miracle that he is," Yuffie interjected with a grin, "Considering he spent like six years of his life yellin' at her at the top of his lungs. Can't believe she said yes. She's gettin' you back now, though, you're totally whipped."

The small woman laughed, patting the chocobo. "Well, it's less competition for Lyla, too, isn't it?" she added brightly.

Cait Sith, from his position on the bar, burst into laughter.

Cid coughed in reply, growing red in the face, not quite as gifted as shrugging off such remarks as Vincent seemed to be. "Hey now, that ain't funny!"

"Yes it is," Yuffie corrected him. "Vincent is okay with you cheating on him with your wife, though, I think. He's come to terms with it."

"It's like Reno and Rude, only more unsettling," Rufus commented to his drink.

"Is one of them married?" the blonde quipped, tapping at her lips again.

"Wark?"

"No. I don't -think- they're really gay." She informed the chocobo.

Cait Sith cocked his head. "Are ye talkin' tae th'chocobo, lassie?"

"Well. Yes."

Cid opened his mouth to interject, but was interrupted by the angry, insistent beep of his cell phone telling him he had a message for the sixth or seventh time that evening. Shaking his head, he pulled his phone from his pocket and headed towards the lobby. "I'm outta here, back in awhile," he told those assembled, spurring Yuffie to jump up out of her seat.

"Hey, wait for me, old man! I'm not finished with you!" She proceeded to follow him with her with both hands on her hips, absolutely determined to convince him that he was glad to have her radiant presence on this trip.

Lyla had pressed herself against the side of the doorway as both pilot and ninja passed, clearing her throat once they were gone and entering properly. "Why is Krazie Yuffie tormenting Cid?"

"Oh! Hi, hunny." Clarise waved cheerfully. "I gave the bird to your pop."

"Yae alrigh' there, lassie?" Cait Sith squinted- or, seemed to, at least- up at the brunette. "Ye look a bi' down in'the bogs."

"Cat has a point," the small woman folded her arms. "So. Wait now. Is her first name 'Krazie'? -Do I detect a 'k' in the spelling of that?"

Dr. Caraway merely waved pleasantly, holding up the chocobo's reins in his left hand as if to demonstrate. Lyla blinked a few times before tilting her head in Clarise and Cait's direction. "I'm okay," she said quickly, in a manner that suggested she distinctly was not. "I think it's more like a title, really. It's on all of the signs at her store. Indeed, you do detect a 'k.'"

"Keep those powers of observation sharp, Clarise," Rufus half-teased after draining the contents of his glass. "Catching details like that usually leads to a pay raise."

"Supernatural powers of detecting the abuse of language." She smirked. "I guess it's a valid skill for working with keyboards and post-it notes." Clarise stole a glance over her shoulder at the president.

Really, he was something like arrogance incarnate. All floppy hair and daddy's money and ruthless, self-satisfied loop-holes.

God, was he attractive.

Rufus looked over his shoulder and offered her a winning smile in reply. "Every little detail counts," he assured her, "Just file that away for everyday use for when we actually have an office to run again."

Behind him, Lyla had made her way to the end of the bar, where she leaned over the counter and spoke to the bartender in a low, conspiratory sort of manner. Dr. Caraway had leaned a bit to get a better look at her around Rufus' figure, frowning slightly until his newly acquired chocobo affectionately pecked at his shoulder.

Clarise was tempted to ask if he meant the 'k' in Krazie Yuffie, but kept it to herself, for the moment. Instead, she leaned way up over the bar to try and see what Lyla was after. Nearly crushing Cait Sith in the process.

So much as one could be crushed merely by copious application of breasts.

The robot, however, didn't complain.

"Whatcha up to, over there?"

Lyla looked up at the question, looking very much like a rabbit caught in the high-beams of an oncoming vehicle. Even as she opened her mouth to reply, the bartender set what was very clearly eight large bottles of vodka in front of her. She smiled sheepishly. "Uh, this?"

"That's enough to make Reno's liver tremble in fear," Rufus remarked coolly.

"Well. Room service will only bring two bottles at a time, which is, you know, really not fair considering they're being paid an exorbitant amount of money for it, but I thought I would save them a few trips."

"Soooo... are you trying to get Dracula drunk so he'll jump you?" Clarise asked curiously, with way more honest interest than was at all appropriate.

"No!" Lyla replied vehemently, causing Rufus to let out a brief snicker before pretending to be more interested in his fresh drink than he really was, with Dr. Caraway following suit, Teioh pecking at his shoulder in the meantime.

"Well, maybe a little. Not primarily! I just really, really, really need to drink, like you wouldn't believe," Lyla went on to clarify, looking worse for the wear as she began to collect the first round of bottles. "Also - hey! Are you implying I would have to get someone drunk to seduce them?" She sounded more surprised than injured, with a note of hysteria that was clearly helped along by the alcohol she had already imbibed.

Clarise shook her head, holding up her well manicured hands. "Nooo." She said evenly. "I said, did you need to get -Dracula- drunk. That's not the same as normal people."

She paused though, leaning down a bit further to squint at her friend. "But seriously. Are you already drunk, yourself, hunny?"

"Oh yes. I'm drunk. I am all kinds of drunk," Lyla confirmed, and after a brief pause, sighed. "Actually, I'm not nearly as drunk as I would like to be. I can hold my liquor really well."

"She can," Dr. Caraway confirmed. If he had any other remarks about the situation, he wisely kept them to himself.

"It's really kind of a pain at times like these," she explained.

"I feel this is the place I should say something about balancing the right level of drunk with blood poisoning," Clarise frowned, pointing at the woman's armload in a gesture typically reserved for gay men in satire.

"I know my limits!" Lyla assured her, gathering another pair of bottles into her arms. "Besides, it's not all for me. And it's not like I'm going to drink it all in the next hour."

"How many hours have you got there, abouts, would you say?" Clarise asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"I don't know. Maybe a little under three? But I hope to be doing something other than drinking all night," Lyla pointed out, taking up the last two bottles by the neck in her right hand.

"It is wrong to take pleasure in the sad comedy of someone else's misery?" Rufus mused aloud, tipping his glass back against his lips. He glanced towards both women and smiled. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Oh, not at all," Lyla told him all at once, "I'm perfectly well-aware of the ridiculous bit."

Clarise pointed over her shoulder at the good doctor. "I don't think I'm the one who needs to give any clearance. I'm pretty much not a nice person, you know?" She paused, looking back at Lyla speculatively. Then sighed. "Well, shoo, then. Do you need a wheelbarrow to get it up stairs?"

"I'm good!" Lyla assured her as she turned towards the exit, "Apparently super strong and all, may as well put it to good use. Hey, why is that chocobo eating my dad?" she asked, truly noticing the chocobo's proximity to her father for the first time, no longer distracted by mounting hysterics and her quest for alcohol.

Dr. Caraway smiled again as the bird gently pecked at the side of his head. "Clarise decided to bestow this most generous gift upon me. ... I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it, but I think he likes me."

"Oh!" the younger Caraway remarked. "That's nice."

"You're in a rush." The smaller woman observed. "You got him half naked and chained up already or something?"

"Not quite, but with any luck, that good old combination of shared misery and Absolut will get us there before the night is out," came the reply, mostly in jest, though Lyla paled a moment later. "And I just said that in front of my father. Oh my god."

"Well. Sort of behind and to the left of your father, really." the secretary offered helpfully.

"Good sense of direction," Rufus murmured thoughtfully, pretending to take a mental note.

Dr. Caraway drew in a deep breath, but offered both women a dismissive wave. "Come now, hardly the worst thing I've ever heard." Regardless, Lyla stared at him for a few moments, horrified.

"This is totally killing you both, isn't it."

"Expec'so, lassie." Cait Sith offered helpfully, though it was somewhat muffled by his proximity to her breasts.

The secretary jumped. "Oh! Hello, little undead kitty."

"Oh yes, absolutely yes," came Dr. Caraway's reserved reply, which he followed up with a long swig of his drink. Lyla took the opportunity of Cait Sith seizing Clarise's attention to make another break for the door, two bottles of vodka tucked beneath each arm and another pair in each hand.

"Well, you just stay distracted by the robot cat, and I'll just go upstairs and kill myself," she said with a very manic sort of cheer. Well, maybe she would save that until after that other thing Clarise had mentioned. That thing that she felt needed to happen about five times worse than it did before. "Have fun!" she added as a parting shot, disappearing through the door to the lobby and briskly heading for the stairs.

Clarise glanced after her as she detached Cait Sith's crown from the lacey edge of her dress collar. "Life's just an adventure around here." She quipped.

"Though a bit more like the sitcom variety of adventure the past couple of days, I think," Rufus supplied, peering curiously at Cait Sith as he set himself to rights.

"Well. He's not Reno," Dr. Caraway was saying to himself, finishing off the last of his drink. Teioh warked loudly in agreement.

"Amazing what one bad boyfriend can do to a father's Bar to Reach." Clarise murmured thoughtfully, tapping a knuckle against her chin. "Maybe you could market him as Reno: the Great Equalizer."

"I think you could profit," Rufus remarked, "Pitch him to women who want their fathers to get off their backs about the men they date. After Reno, they'll all seem like Prince Charming." He smiled knowingly.

"Let's be fair, I don't have anything against him -personally-, we were both just playing our roles as directed by social norms," Dr. Caraway said evenly. "Though I did wake up to find him in my kitchen just a few too many times. And he did eat all of my cereal."

"So, Dracula's better because he doesn't eat? ...Er. Cereal?" Clarise thought about that for a moment. "Oh, hey. Wait. Isn't he dead, too? And like... very old?"

Dr. Caraway closed his eyes and let out a very terse, "Yes."

Clarise put a hand to her mouth. "He really -is- dead, then? I wasn't sure if everyone was joking or not!"

"Well," the doctor corrected himself, "'Dead' isn't really correct, either, but he was, for a brief time." He coughed, downing the last of his drink. "I was there. We go back. It's very weird."

"So he really is a vampire, then?" Clarise blinked owlishly.

"No," Dr. Caraway declined with a shake of his head. "Something else entirely. We'll simply say he's been reanimated, for now. I'm not entirely sure there's a word for what was done to him, to be completely honest."

She squinted. "Your daughter's trying to jump a zombie?"

For a moment, Caraway wasn't exactly sure which part of that question he wanted to object to first. He sighed, pressing his middle and index fingers against his temple as he leaned against the bar. "No," he began, "I'm fairly certain his heart beats. And no, because no."

"I think you broke him, Miss Kaht," Rufus interjected.

"Oops." She murmured, looking honestly remorseful for a very brief moment.

Rufus offered the older man a very reserved, condescending pat on the shoulder. "There there. There."

Dr. Caraway turned a critical eye on him. "I'm fine, don't strain yourself."

"I guess it really would be terrible if you were hurt again, Mr. President." Clarise offered, chewing at her lip.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not as though I'm going to go into cardiac arrest because I took a moment to pretend to care," Rufus said plainly.

"I don't know. The shock may very well be a blow to it."

"I'm young," Rufus reasoned, "I think I'll survive."

She chuckled, setting Cait Sith back on the bar and stealing the stool nearest her- which happened to be Yuffie's currently abandoned seat.

"Well," the robot offered, tipping back his crown. "One thing's fer sure. Vin's in for a hell of a night."

Dr. Caraway merely allowed his head to drop forward and come to rest on the bar, with Teioh giving the back of it an experimental poke afterwards. Rufus cleared his throat and glance to the cat, saying, "Now that was just cruel, Cait."

The cat looked around at the assembled company, baffled. "Aye? Well would you wannae babysit her drunk? Specially with ol'mealy mouth an' the one winged pain in th'arse aboot?"

"Reasonable," Rufus offered with a nod. "Do you think he'll be putting in another appearance soon, speaking of?"

"Couldnae say." He frowned, looking upward as if for some inspiration. "Fortunes have all been grim tonight."

"Perhaps best if we all remain on alert," was Rufus' solemn reply, all teasing set aside for the time being.

"There's been a storm coming in since early evening." Clarise offered, turning her eyes towards the windows. "Last time that happened, it was bad news."

"I'll place a call to Reno and Rude, then," Rufus told her, reaching to produce his phone from somewhere within the depths of his white suit jacket. "Just in case."

"Just in case." the secretary repeated. But somehow, didn't feel very comforted at all.

* * *

Lyla considered it a great feat of skill that she managed to make it all the way back to the room without dropping any of the bottles she had initially stepped out to get. She carefully set them on the floor in order to let herself in, quickly moving the first four inside before taking up the rest, two in each hand, and shut the door behind her, setting two bottles beside the bed, holding one out to the gunman, and keeping one for herself.

"That should give room service a reasonable break, don't you think?"

Vincent, for his part, accepted the bottle with a glance off to their left at what empty bottles had already accumulated.

Really, finishing a singular bottle of vodka by one's self was not so much a feat of strength as an exercise in stupidity. It -should- have lead to having one's stomach pumped.

The gunman, however, for better or worse, was anything but ordinary. The amound of liquor he could imbibe, or food he could consume as a human being had been literally dwarfed since his awakening. It was a mystery he had yet to truly unravel- but it made getting drunk exponentially more expensive.

Lyla's excuse, however, he could not say he knew.

The scientist helped herself to a seat on the edge of the bed and proceeded to open the bottle without ceremony, giving it a thoughtful look before tipping it back for the first swallow. She had always been privately impressed with her own remarkably high tolerance for alcohol, but never questioned it much. Now, since having her origins revealed to her, she simply wrote it off as another fringe benefit - the same as so many other details that would have nagged at her endlessly if she hadn't simply dismissed them.

"My father met Clarise," she said after a moment, lips pursing slightly. "And her mouth."

Vincent considered this while removing the top from his own bottle. "How's his heart?"

"Pretty good, but that may not help much in this situation," Lyla mused aloud, then looked grimly into the contents of her bottle. "She asked if I was going to have you half-naked and chained up in front of him. ... it went downhill from there. I'd like to end my life."

To his credit, Mr. Valentine made a valiant effort not to sound as though he choked on his drink as hard as he did. "That-" he swallowed a cough. "I see. I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"It was bad," she corrected him, tipping her bottle back for another drink. "Very, very bad. I may not have disagreed with her as vehemently as I likely should have."

"If they were in the bar, maybe he was drunk, too." He arched an eyebrow. "I'm sure it will be okay."

The burning in his throat endured, though it distracted him from the topic of conversation less acutely than he would have liked.

"That would be great," Lyla said decidedly. "I did see brandy." She wondered, if the awkward of that conversation never fully evaporated, if her father might date again someday so she could enlist Clarise in ruining his life in a similar fashion.

Privately, Vincent was horrified with himself for wanting to ask if chaining people to beds was in Lyla's typical repertoire.

Lyla closed her eyes very briefly, reliving the scene in the bar and feeling the sharp, mortifying sort of pain one often feels thanks to hindsight being 20/20. "Someday. Selective mute. It's happening. Putting that right on my to-do list after 'survive.'"

Monstrous discoveries, homicide-related depression. Basic explanations of the world and it's abominations, tactical advice. None of these things were beyond him.

...This, however, was a whole different kettle of fish.

Vincent cleared his throat again, hoping to free it of the last vestiges of vodka, and shook his head.

Not really his area of expertise, one could say.

The brunette withheld a small sigh as she opened her eyes again, tipping her own bottle of vodka back against her lips for another liberal swallow. The burn of it was pleasant, a distraction from the irritating noise in her head, though she had been making a valiant effort to ignore it. "I'm sorry. Clarise was kidding, and so was I, really, though it was still inopportune timing, nonetheless."

"It's not that." Vincent assured her, sitting with one leg against his chest, leaning so that the bottle hung from the fingers perched above his knee. "If Cid's jokes never bothered me, yours don't. It's just..." He fell quiet a moment, trying to decide how to explain. "...humanity and I have been strangers... longer than it seems."

"I know," she said with a careful nod, glancing to her left to get a better look at him. "That's why I don't want to be too pushy. You need a lot of time, and space." If she were being honest with herself, if he had been anyone else, she would have progressed past half-teasing innuendos and pushed harder in search of some kind of comfort, anything to serve as even a brief distraction from the mess she had found herself so much a part of. But that wouldn't do here. That was fine. The vodka was helpful, too.

Vincent felt compelled to answer her sincerity. It frustrated him immensely to be at a loss for how. He looked down at the bottle, and then over at her, through the lens of cloak and hair. He sighed, then, turning his red gaze back out the window.

"It'd be a shame, if you went mute."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," she said gently, kindly averting her eyes to avoid staring at him as he turned his own gaze towards the window. "I may wish for it often, but I have too many opinions to keep it all to myself, and my day wouldn't be complete if I didn't stick my foot in my mouth at least once." She paused, the gravity of his statement not lost on her. "But that's sweet of you to say."

Sweet was not a word Vincent was accustomed to hearing applied to himself. He gave a soft huff of acknowledgement, watching the clouds as they rolled in ever thicker. "Not a lot of people have much worth saying."

"I don't always, either," she reasoned aloud, helping herself to another generous swallow of vodka. "But now and then, I get lucky."

"Even if that's true..." The gunman told the hazy moon, "The sound of your voice, isn't bad."

She smiled, quickly turning her head to hide it behind the arm she had propped up against her knee, almost embarrassed at just how wide it spread. "O-oh. ... neither is yours."

"If I was someone who deserved happiness, I wouldn't make you wait." He said after a moment, frowning. "Even if I was a sinner, seeking redemption. But... this is all I am. ...Maybe it's all I can be, anymore. I don't know."

"I think there's more than you'll allow yourself to see," Lyla said evenly, catching a glimpse of his thoughtful frown out of the corner of her eye. It was going to take a lot of time and effort to convince him, she thought to herself. "... and I don't mind at all. Slow can be a good thing. Maybe give me some time to prove that I won't be tired of you when things are better. ... everyone deserves a little happiness."

"Not everyone." he rasped, frown deepening before it slipped away beneath cloth and shadow. "But... maybe. I can be one again."

"I hope you decide you are, someday," she told her bottle of vodka, thoughtfully biting at her lower lip for a moment, tucking her hair behind her ear as she took another drink. "Until then, I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree. That's just not how I see you."

Vincent ducked his head, smile lopsided and largely devoid of humor.

"Just this once," he murmured, "When I said that... I didn't mean me."

The seriousness of the moment broke and she grinned to herself, stifling a laugh that almost managed to escape. "Okay. You're right, point for you."

He flashed her a brief, entirely too calm pump of his fist in reply.

Stifled laughter became a lost cause then, and it broke free, though it was brief. "So I'll amend my statement, considering we've both come into contact with people who decidedly do not deserve it. All I've said about -you-, however, still stands. I'm sticking to the first draft, awkward and occasionally embarrassing as it's been."

"I suppose I can live with that." he told her wryly, considering things carefully before taking a swig of vodka from his own bottle.

A comfortable silence settled over them for a few moments, and Lyla was content to enjoy the quiet company as she steadily worked at the contents of the bottle in her hand. "So," she mused aloud after another minute or two, "That time when alcohol didn't effect me much? I think that's over now. I don't usually get this far, I always forget that it hits like a sack of hammers," she observed, squinting one eye closed as she set her mostly-empty bottle on the floor. "That's enough outta you, Absolut. For now."

"If you want to sleep, I'll keep watch." Vincent offered quietly, tapping out a quiet rhythm along the glass neck with his clawed hand.

"I don't usually manage it very easily," the scientist confessed, even as she carefully swung her legs up onto the bed, neatly tucking them beneath herself. "Even when I want to. But I may take you up on that offer, the need to be horizontal gets a little overwhelming sometimes despite the inability to sleep."

At last the gunman unfolded himself, rising easily to his feet without the sound of metal to accompany. He paused, turning to look back at her before heading across the way to the straight backed arm chair that stood like a sentinel beside the window.

Without ceremony, he lay a human hand atop her head. "Try." he said simply. "I'll be here."

She smiled, glancing upwards even as his hand pulled away to follow the rest of him towards the window. It took effort, if only a little bit, to conceal the mild panic attack that struck her as he crossed the room. It wasn't a conscious objection, but even that short distance was enough to make something deep down decidedly uncomfortable. She said nothing, but reached for the nearest pillow and carefully eased herself onto it, tucking a hand beneath it as she straightened out. "Thank you."

"You deserve a rest." He countered, glancing out at the fading light of the waxing moon, clouds choking it steadily out of the sky. "But for now, this will have to do."

"When this mess is all over," she began, forcing her eyelids to half-mast as she made herself comfortable, "I'm thinking of treating myself to an extended vacation for that very reason."

"Sounds like a plan." he agreed, watching the half light as it danced down her face and throat, pooling in the corners of her being where the shadows should have lingered.

"Maybe Costa del Sol," she mused idly, stifling a yawn as she studied him from across the room, his painfully thin figure sharp and very effective against the dim, blue-colored light that filtered in from outside. "... though it kind of leaves a bitter taste at the moment. Mideel is nice..."

"Kalm." Vincent suggested, "They hold a summer festival in the streets, but otherwise... very quiet."

"That sounds nice," she agreed, exhaling soundly. "Quiet sounds perfect right about now."

The gunman nodded, but didn't say any more. If she could sleep, she should.

She closed her eyes fully then, silently constructing a mantra she hoped would shove some of the noise out long enough to rest. Even if it was only a little, it was better than no help at all. "Wake me up if anything exciting happens?"

"Promise." Vincent murmured.

"Good."

Something happened to the gunman's face as he returned his eyes to the window. Something small that flickered fast and faded faster. It might have been a smile. But if it was, only he and the moon would ever know.


End file.
